Rising From The Ashes
by Beregond5
Summary: G1. Optimus Prime has returned and reclaimed his position as leader of the Autobots. And though the Decepticons seem to keep a low profile after the Hate Plague incident, there's still danger lurking... Post Season 3.
1. Prologue

Confusion gripped his spark as he registered the cold and darkness that surrounded him. He tried to move, but his limbs didn't obey him. He couldn't even will his lip components to open when he heard voices close to him, just so he could get the speakers' attention. It was as if an unknown force had him trapped under some sort of spell.

_Where am I?_

"Probability of success?"

He flinched when he heard a voice too close to him, for it sounded cruel, calculating… even evil.

"It has decreased to 80.5 %," another voice answered. "The precedent incident has cost us greatly."

"Yet not the war," a third voice said. "We've learnt from our mistakes and adjusted."

War_… He _was in a war, wasn't he? One that had cost him his home and everyone he had loved. A war of which he had become sick and he wished to end.

Then why was he here? What happened?

"So did the Autobots," the first voice pointed out. "Is that risk acceptable?"

That's right. He had joined the Autobots to fight against Megatron and his minions. Was he a captive then? But who were his captors? They didn't sound like Decepticons.

_Decepticons… _Images of an explosion floated before his mind's optics. He was driving that shuttle, and he had turned around in surprise, only to see a mech, a _friend_, falling down, mortally wounded. He had grabbed his rifle and fired, but then… his chest had hurt… and the bitter taste of energon had reached his mouth, along with the smell of burning circuitry…

Fear added to his confusion, and his spark pulsated loudly in his chest-plate in a rhythm that he was certain he had felt ceasing before blackness overcame him.

_What happened to me? Where am I?_

"Even if the Autobots suspect foul play, there's a 98% chance that they will want to interfere anyway," the voice said.

"And when they do, we'll be waiting for them," the third voice declared. "How's our last specimen coming along?"

"He's also repairable. The process is almost complete."

A thin tendril reached for his helm, digging inside his cranial unit. He wanted to fight back that sickening sensation so bad that he could almost taste it, but the only thing that happened was his optics coming online.

Primus, he had escaped from one nightmare to end up on another. The three creatures regarded him through five pairs of optics, each face more hideous and demonic than the other. And the terrifying thing was… he knew those faces. His father had told him about them. But he had always believed that they were part of a tale to frighten sparklings!

Those creatures were… were…

"Place him with the others," one of them said. "Once they're all reprogrammed, we can commence our plan as agreed."

They weren't gentle in their treatment as he got carried away, and he would have certainly purged the contents of his converters if they weren't already empty. Finally, however, they put him down once more, and he found his chance to check his surroundings.

Another pair of optics locked on his. A pair of optics that he knew.

_Ratchet…_

He directed his gaze to his left, and he saw other familiar forms, all of them cabled down and grey patches of foreign parts covering their chassis, a sign that someone had been repairing them.

_Ironhide…_

_Brawn…_

_Wheeljack…_

_Windcharger…_

_Huffer…_

Prowl shut his optics, a single thought crossing his mind and reaching to a mental scream.

_Somebody help us!_

**TBC...**


	2. The Ark

"There he goes again," Gears commented in a dry tone, directing his sensors straight ahead.

Warpath followed his companion's example and saw that Gears was right. "Hey, Goldbug!" he cried out. "Will you – pow! – slow down already? I can only go that – bam! – fast!"

"And I'm an old mech, for Primus's sake!" Gears seconded. "Didn't your creator ever tell you to think of your elders?"

The minibot by the name of Goldbug, formerly known as Bumblebee, remembered himself. Cutting down his speed, he waited patiently for his friends to catch up with him.

"Sorry, guys. I got carried away," he said apologetically.

"You think?" Gears deadpanned. If he had been in his robot mode, he would have been eyeing the young minibot quite hard.

"Aw, don't be harsh on him, Gears," Spike said in that moment, smiling. The man was sitting inside Goldbug, just like back in the days when he was a young boy of sixteen. "He still has to get used to his new engine."

"That, and I want to get to the Ark as soon as possible," Goldbug admitted. Still, he remained mindful of his speed this time and drove at Warpath and Gears's side. "I can't believe we are actually going there!"

"That – yowza! – makes two of us," Warpath said. "It will be – wham! – good to see the old base again."

"If it hasn't been crushed to smithereens thanks to that big oaf of a Decepticon City," Gears grumbled. "My circuits can't handle hard work the way they used to. There's grain in my joints, my optic sensors can't focus as well anymore; and _don't _get me started on the glitch in my audio receptors!"

"Okay, we won't," Goldbug teased.

That earned him a snort of indignation from the older Autobot, but their banter was short lived as Spike suddenly sat up.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, pointing ahead.

The minibots directed their optic sensors to where their human friend was currently pointing.

"Yup. That's the Ark," Goldbug said. "Well… under all that pile of rubble, that is." Indeed, the old base was no longer visible, but buried under countless boulders that crashed down on it after Trypticon's attack. A small, dirty path which led to nowhere was the only evidence that the old base was once there.

"Oh no," Spike said, wincing. "You weren't exaggerating, Gears; Trypticon did quite a number on the place."

"Of course I wasn't exaggerating," Gears retorted in an affronted manner. "I may be old, but I'm not senile!"

"Maybe it's not as bad as – pow! – it looks?" Warpath ventured.

"If it wasn't, Rodimus would send us here months ago," Gears pointed out.

"Not when he had to deal with both the Decepticons andthe Quintessons," Spike said. "You have to admit, he was caught between a rock and a hard place."

His three companions couldn't have agreed more to that. It had been a trying couple of years, during which they had to fight for their lives, grieve for those who were gone, and strive for a better future that was nowhere in sight. And when the Hate Plague struck on top of everything else, it looked like everything was quite lost… until the impossible happened. The return of Optimus Prime was hailed as an unexpected yet welcome miracle, rekindling the Autobots' hopes. Even Galvatron had to concede to the resurrected Autobot leader's grit and, in a gesture of respect, he declared a ceasefire. The war was far from over, by all means. Nevertheless, it gave both factions the chance to recover after everything they had been through. When the ceasefire ended in a few months' time, the Autobots would be ready to fight the Decepticons once more.

In the meantime, however, the Autobots meant to make the most out of it. They worked hard to repair the damages that were done on Cybertron and on Earth during the Hate Plague. Some of them, like the Protectobots, healed the injuries their companions had suffered, while other teams restored the wildlife that had been destroyed. Even the Dinobots had offered to help, and Optimus couldn't find it in his spark to refuse. He had them demolish the buildings that were considered too hazardous for habitation, a task that delighted the Dinobots to no end.

Still, it wasn't enough. Optimus believed that there were other matters to be settled as well, matters that were put off because of the last two chaotic years. Since there was some time to be spared now, the Autobot leader had ordered a team of minibots to investigate the Ark and check if there was anything salvageable. Goldbug, Gears and Warpath were the first to volunteer and Optimus gave them permission to go, for he knew how attached those three were to the former Autobot base. Spike was also more than happy to escort his friends, and so now they were all heading towards the familiar mountains that had once been the Autobots' first home on Earth.

The minibots braked in front of the rubble, sensors scanning for any loose rocks that they could remove in order to venture inside.

"Well, guys? Any luck?" Spike asked after a few moments of silence.

"Nothing as of yet, Spike," Goldbug said, sounding disappointed. I don't get it. Beachcomber said-"

"Hey, I've got something!" Gears exclaimed, cutting in. "It looks like a hole of sorts!"

"Really? Where?" Warpath asked.

"Just a few feet above us," the old minibot said, and he transformed to his robot mode. "Right there."

Warpath looked up, while Spike got out of Goldbug so that his friend could transform as well.

"It doesn't look all that big," the golden minibot commented, shielding his optics from the sun with his hand. "Just enough for a human to crawl in actually."

"It sounds like a job for me then," Spike said, rolling up his sleeves. "Give me a lift, Goldbug; I'll try to reach it."

The minibots exchanged a glance.

"Ah… I don't think that's such a good idea, Spike," Goldbug said.

"Yeah," Warpath said. "We can – wham! – try and blast our way through."

"We can't risk any more damage to the Ark," Spike replied.

"But the ground is unstable," Gears pointed out. "We don't want you to risk getting hurt."

Spike shook his head, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Geez, guys, I know you don't want me to get hurt. But we can't exactly wait for Sideswipe to return from Cybertron to open a way through for us, can we?"

Spike regretted his tone at once, especially since none of the Autobots answered. Goldbug had already told him why Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and so many others had returned to Cybertron, and the human had understood, even if he hadn't liked it. And it didn't mean he should remind his friends about it.

"Just trust me," he said in a softer voice, trying to sound reassuring. "Please."

That finally convinced the minibots. Nodding once, Goldbug knelt down and cupped his hands to form a makeshift platform for the human.

"Hop on."

* * *

Spike hoisted himself up the rubble, his jaw clenched and his fingers digging on the rocky wall. It wasn't an easy climb, that was for certain, and the man had to be careful not to knock any loose boulders out of their place. If he did, he wouldn't only slip and injure himself, he risked injuring his friends as well.

"You okay up there, Spike?" Goldbug asked; his concern was quite audible in his voice.

"I'm starting to think I'm getting too old for this but, other than that, I'm fine," Spike replied, grabbing hold of another boulder. "Am I heading to the right direction, at least?"

"Yup. The hole is – bam! – right above you. Just keep moving," Warpath said.

"Okay!" Spike tried his footing on another boulder, and he pushed himself upward again. He managed to catch a glimpse of the hole, so he used all the strength he could muster to continue on. He was breathing quite heavily by the time he had reached the entrance, yet he allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

"I'm up!" he cried to the minibots below.

There was a small pause, during which Spike was sure that his companions sighed in relief. After spending years in the company of the Autobots, the human had learnt his friends only too well.

"Can you see anything?" Gears asked curiously, cutting into Spike's train of thought.

Spike squinted in an attempt to discern any shapes in the darkness before him. "Barely. I'll try to crawl inside and-"

It was then that it happened. Before he had the chance to react, the sound of beating wings surrounded him, and he was all but knocked down as a swarm of birds burst out of its hiding place. Yelping in surprise, Spike covered his eyes and stayed sprawled on the ground, waiting for the birds to fly out of the hole.

"Spike! Spike, can you hear me?"

Goldbug's worried voice reached Spike's ears, but the man moved only after he was absolutely sure he was safe. Crawling on all fours, he ventured towards a small ledge and looked down.

"I'm okay! The starlings just didn't appreciate my company!" he cried. "I'm going in!"

The minibots nodded their understanding. "Have you got your radio transmitter?" Goldbug asked.

"I never leave home without it," Spike answered.

"Good. Keep your communication frequencies open," Gears said. "We won't be able to talk, but we'll still be able to keep track of you."

"Gotcha. See you in minute," Spike said, and he started fumbling his way down the small tunnel. He winced every once in a while, whenever he had to cross an area where the ground was too jagged and his clothes almost got torn in the process. Nevertheless, the human persisted, gritting his teeth. Just when he thought that his body couldn't take that kind of abuse much longer, he finally felt the smooth surface of metal under his fingertips. Scarcely believing it, he gently tapped the metal, and he smiled when he heard the characteristic _ping _sound. Even better, the tunnel didn't feel so crammed up anymore, so Spike could move more easily. Spike also noticed a dim light at the end of the cavern, and he knew that he was reaching to his destination at last.

His destination turned out to be the exit of a ventilation system, which was easy to kick open. A few moments later, Spike found himself in what looked like the inside of a large dorm. There were two berths, a few belongings that were left there forgotten, as well as several datapads that had been scattered on the floor after Trypticon's attack. Feeling curious, Spike turned a couple of the datapads over to check them out, hoping that he would find out whose datapads they were. Unfortunately, they were broken, and there was nothing else in the room that served as a hint about in which part of the Ark he was. Or so Spike thought at first. When he looked up, he saw a human sized poster glued on the wall, and the man could easily read the words: 'Avian Show. Summer '99."

Spike remembered that event. Powerglide had seen it, and he hadn't stopped talking about it in the days that had followed. In fact, the human could still recall the kind of planes that were in the show, what colour they were, even what kind of manoeuvres they had performed; Powerglide's description of everything had been more than just detailed. This time, however, the poster also told Spike that he was in Powerglide's old dorm. That meant he was on the western area of the Ark. All he had to do was head to his right, then down a level, and he would reach the control room.

Of course, he had to get out of the dorm first. Thankfully, the door was already slightly ajar, probably because of malfunction, so it was easy for Spike to squeeze through the crack and exit to one of the Ark's many corridors.

Spike winced at the sight. The orange metal plates that had formed the Ark's walls were on the verge of crumbling utterly, and there were a lot circuitries exposed. Wires and cables hanged from the ceiling, almost touching the floor as if they were vines in a jungle. Bleeping sounds reverberated through the place, but they were either distorted or filled with static. It was probably some kind of an alert that continued functioning in spite of everything.

Spike didn't have the luxury to ponder on matters for long, though. He needed to find the control room. It was with that thought that he continued on, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the corridor. It took him longer to reach the control room than he had expected, but he eventually ended up in the familiar room that housed Teletraan-I. Teletraan-I, however, wasn't functioning anymore. His monitors were blackened, and the lights of the control panel were no longer blinking in their slow, harmonious rhythm.

Spike's heart sank. Teletraan-I wasn't a Transformer. Even so, he was still an important member of the Ark, serving as the audios and optics of the Autobots to the outside world, as well as a sentinel of the old base. He had played a big part in the war, and he had even suffered the war's devastating consequences. Spike had practically lost count of all the times Teletraan-I had offered his solution to whatever problem came up, or the numerous times that he had gotten damaged because of Megatron's schemes. And now… he was gone. Just like Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet…

Spike clenched his jaw, not wanting to let his emotions run away with him. He had believed that Transformers were practically immortal. After all, they were machines. Far more advanced than anything humans had ever created, but machines nonetheless. As long as there were spare parts, they could be repaired and live on. But the Battle of the Autobot City proved to Spike how wrong he was. He had to mourn them, just as he had mourned his father three years ago.

It was then that another thought crossed his mind, and his heart almost missed a beat. Perceptor had explained to Spike that the Autobots died, _really _died, when their sparks extinguished. But Teletraan-I never had a spark, he was simply a super advanced computer. So, technically, he _could _be fixed, and he could be as good as new. Right?

_Right_. As he recalled the couple of times that he himself had to fix Teletraan-I, Spike started working on the control panels, connecting cables and restoring all the buttons he could find. He wasn't sure if he was driven by some kind of denial or hope, but he knew he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and find out if his theory was correct.

* * *

All three minibots sat by the rubble, resting their elbows on their knees and waiting for any news from Spike. Goldbug was quite restless, shifting on his seat continuously and looking every once in a while in the direction his human friend had disappeared out of sight.

"Don't you think Spike is taking too long?" he finally asked, facing Gears and Warpath.

"Relax, Goldbug. The place must be in – kaboom! – mess. He probably – yowza! - has a hard time moving about," Warpath reasoned.

"If he _can _move," Gears noted, optics shining a bit as he activated his sensors. "He's been in the area of the control room for the last half hour."

"That's it. I'll try to get in," Goldbug declared, holding up his laser gun.

"Goldbug…"

Gears stopped midway, for it was then that the minibots heard the whistle of an incoming transmission.

"This is Spike here. Do you read me, guys?"

The three Autobots exchanged a glance, certainly surprised. "Spike? How did you…?" Goldbug started.

"Let's just say that I have a surprise for you," Spike said, sounding pleased. "Stand back for a moment."

None of the minibots knew what Spike was talking about, but they decided to comply nonetheless. As soon as all three of them were at a safe distance, Gears talked to his radio transmitter again.

"Okay, Spike. Show us."

In the next moment, about a dozen blaster turrets emerged noisily from the mountainside and directed their barrels to the rubble as if they had a mind of their own. The minibots watched in shock as their base seemed to have come back to life once more, firing at the offending boulders that dared cover it.

"Alright!" Warpath exclaimed, almost jumping in joy. "Now that's what I'm – bam! – talking about!"

Neither Goldbug nor Gears could have said it better. The old minibot carried a smile that brightened his features, making him look younger than he actually was; while Goldbug's worries vanished into thin air. He was as giddy as a sparkling now, scarcely containing his anticipation and excitement when he caught a glimpse of the Ark's entrance.

And then, finally, the last boulder was knocked away. Goldbug, Gears and Warpath hurried to the unearthed entrance as fast as their feet could carry them. Spike was already at the threshold, his lips tugged to a grin as broad as his friends'.

"Well? Was it a good surprise?" he asked.

"Just good? This is fantastic!" Goldbug exclaimed, picking up Spike as though he was some sort of doll and hugging him. "I don't know how you did it; but, boy, I can't thank you enough!"

"Well, you can stop crushing me, for starters," Spike said, chuckling.

"Whoops, sorry," Goldbug replied sheepishly, and he put Spike down.

"Seriously though, Spike, how did you do it?" Gears asked, still looking at the familiar orange walls that he had thought he'd never see again.

"I just reconnected some cables and controls that had gotten knocked out of their place," Spike answered. "I couldn't activate Teletraan-I, but I could still operate the blaster turrets manually."

"So if you could – bam! – fix the controls, maybe Teletraan-I can be activated too," Warpath said.

"That's what I thought," Spike said. "But we might need Perceptor's help for that kind of thing."

"Not necessarily true," Gears said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I used to help out whenever we did maintenance checks on Teletraan-I. I think I can recall enough data to patch him up."

"Do you think that will work?" Goldbug asked curiously.

"He won't be in top condition, but he'll be online at least," Gears argued. "That's better than nothing, right?"

Everyone had to agree that that was an excellent point, so they decided to go through with the old minibot's plan. Gears feared that he wouldn't be able to remember as he much as he would have liked. He nevertheless managed to coordinate the whole process efficiently and without error. It also took a lot of patience but, two hours later, the four companions had connected all the power cables on Teletraan-I. They had even rewired several battered relays and pieces of circuitry.

It was Warpath who first noticed it. He was working on one of the smaller monitors that compiled Teletraan-I, when he caught sight of something flashing. He looked up, regarding the main monitor closely. Nothing else happened, though, so Warpath finally decided that he had simply imagined things. He was about to resume with his work, but then he noticed a second flash of light. More importantly, it was brighter than before.

"Uh… Guys? I think you should – bam! – see this."

Gears, Goldbug and Spike stopped working and looked in the same direction Warpath was currently looking. Sure enough, a third flicker of light flashed in the monitor, and then Teletraan-I spoke.

"Processing. Please, standby."

"That was it?" Spike wondered aloud, standing next to Goldbug. "Did we actually bring him online?"

"I don't know," Goldbug answered softly.

"Status: 45% systems online. Repair systems: operative," Teletraan-I continued, sounding oblivious to his surroundings. "Exploring."

A small device sprang out of one of the consoles and hovered above the minibots and Spike. Its camera clicked four times, an indication that it had spotted all four companions and had sent the data back to Teletraan-I. Everyone watched on with bated breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Human friend Spike and Autobots Gears and Warpath identified," Teletraan-I declared. "Warning: energy signature and external structure do not match with Autobot Bumblebee."

"Uh oh," Goldbug said, seeing that several defence mechanisms were now aiming their barrels at him.

"Goldbug, give him your code!" Gears said.

"Right." The golden minibot pushed his shoulders back, mustering his courage. "Stand down, Teletraan-I. Access code: five seven three five point eight."

"Processing," Teletraan-I said. There was a small pause. "Access verified. Welcome, Autobot Bumblebee."

"Thanks, although it's Goldbug now," Goldbug pointed out, smiling.

"Data updated," Teletraan-I replied. "Resuming repairs."

The four companions couldn't help but congratulate each other on a job well done. Since Teletraan-I started repairing himself, it would only be a matter of time before the Ark would become a fully functional base once more. It would be just like the old days, before the building of the Autobot City.

"I'd better contact Ultra Magnus and Optimus," Goldbug said then, opening his communication frequencies. "They'll want to hear this."

"Wait," Spike said at that moment. "What's that?"

Goldbug stopped, not sure what was wrong. Looking up, however, he saw what Spike had already noticed, and that was Teletraan-I's monitor flashing bright yellow.

"Whoa! How did that happen?" he exclaimed.

"You gotta – yowza! – kidding me!" Warpath seconded, his optics wide with surprise.

"Guys?" Spike asked, regarding his friends curiously.

"Spike," Gears said quietly. "That's the signal for an incoming transmission. And it's not from Earth or from Cybertron."

Spike felt like his heart skipped a beat. "Then from where?"

"I don't know," Gears answered.

TBC…


	3. The Message

_Darkness and cold surrounded him as he moved about in the black corridors that seemed to tower over him. He knew where he was; he recognised the place only too well. What he didn't understand is why he was back here after all this time. He should have been on Cybertron instead._

"_Hello?" he called, his deep timbre echoing hollowly throughout the mausoleum. "Is anyone here?"_

_The only answer he got was silence._

This isn't right, _he thought. _Somebody should be here.

"_Hello?" he tried again. "Can anybody hear me?"_

"_Prime?"_

_Optimus turned around, startled to hear that soft voice so close to him. When he saw who it was, however, he stared at the familiar face incredulously._

"_Huffer?" A part of Optimus screamed at him that this wasn't possible, and yet there it was. The minibot was there, in front of him, his face one of utter anguish and despair. "What's wrong?"_

"_We can't find our bodies, Prime," Huffer said, sounding confused. "Where are they?"_

_Optimus felt his heart sinking at that question. Was that why he was back here? To be reminded of his mistakes?_

"_They're gone, Huffer. Destroyed. I'm sorry," he answered ruefully._

"_You sure about that, Chief?"_

Ironhide._ Indeed, the weapons' specialist was standing a couple of feet away from the Autobot leader, his arms crossed and regarding Optimus with quite the sceptical look._

"_I set the mausoleum on self-destruct myself," Optimus answered. "There's nothing left."_

"_Maybe," Ratchet said, appearing next to Optimus as if out of nowhere. "But that doesn't answer the question."_

"_I don't understand," Optimus said. He took a step back, his gaze locked on his friends. "I've told you what happened. What more do you want from me?"_

"_They want you to remember," Alpha Trion's kind voice rang in Optimus's audios._

* * *

Optimus snapped out of his troubled recharge mode, onlining his optics sharply. He looked at his surroundings, and saw that the coldness and dark of the mausoleum was gone; he was in his room, on his berth, as he should have been. Even so, his spark was still pulsating rapidly in his chestplate and he had to sit up. He rubbed the slumber off his optics, hoping to rid himself of the last remnants of the… dream? Nightmare? Optimus couldn't possibly tell anymore. Whatever it was, though, it had the power to disturb him to no end.

"It happened again, didn't it?"

Optimus nodded, sighing. He knew that it was all the answer Elita-1 needed.

There was the whirring sound of gears in motion, and then long fingers touched his shoulder.

"What was it this time?"

The Autobot leader bowed his head, locking his gaze on the floor. "They wanted to know where their bodies were. They couldn't find them in the mausoleum," he replied before facing her. "It was strange, Elita. It almost felt as if they were trying to tell me something."

Elita-1 didn't speak at once, probably contemplating on Optimus's words. "Have you talked to Smokescreen?"

It took a lot for an Autobot leader to feel like a sparkling caught in the act of doing something wrong. This time, however, Optimus felt exactly like that.

"Optimus…" Elita started, shaking her head.

"Smokescreen already has his hands full," he said. "There are other Autobots that need his help more than I do."

"And you know that this can't carry on either," the femme said. "You've had those dreams ever since you returned from the Matrix. This isn't a coincidence." She cupped Optimus's face, which was free from the battlemask, stroking it tenderly. "All I'm suggesting is to see him and ask for his advice. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to offer it to you."

Optimus had to admit that his bondmate had a point.

"All right, Elita. I promise you I'll speak with him when the time comes," he said and stood up. "Now, however, I must find Jazz. We need to contact Earth and discuss the matter of supplies we should send."

Elita-1 nodded her understanding and she stood up as well. "I have to attend to some matters that can't wait as well. Chromia and Nova are expecting me so we can look over the new Autobot protoform facility." She smiled a bit. "I guess we have our hands full too, don't we?"

"Indeed. But I'm glad you're here with me," Optimus said with a smile of his own before leaning down for a light, loving kiss on Elita's lips. In the next moment, he put his battlemask on and exited, heading towards the control room. He knew that Jazz was already there, waiting for the Autobot leader to show up.

Sure enough, the first thing that Optimus saw when the doors to the control room opened was the saboteur. Jazz was standing in the centre of the room, his gaze locked on the newly-installed Teletraan-III's monitors and reading all the information flashing there.

"Anything interesting going on, Jazz?" the Autobot leader asked, walking up to his current second-in-command.

"Negative, Prime. Everything's been real quiet down here," Jazz said, facing Optimus. "Can't say I'm complaining though."

"That makes two of us," Optimus replied with a nod. However, as he looked around, he noticed that someone was missing from the picture. "Where's Red?"

Jazz smiled a bit. "He went to his usual round, checking to see if the cameras are working."

Optimus chuckled a bit at that. "He realises he could have run a diagnostics scan, of course?"

"He has. Twice," Jazz replied. "He just said there was no harm in being certain."

"Indeed." And yet Optimus's mirth died almost at once as another, much darker thought crossed his mind. "What is Smokescreen's assessment?"

Jazz's optics dimmed slightly underneath his visor. "He said that, as long as Red goes about his routine, he should be fine."

"And what of his memories?" Optimus asked.

"No way," Jazz said. "Not yet anyway."

Optimus's spark sank at that, and the Autobot leader felt for the security chief. Red Alert had been one of the mechs who had suffered the most during the Hate Plague, and the Cure had hardly helped him. Though all the Autobots had returned back to the Autobot City after their recovery, Red hadn't shown up at all, not even on the next day or the day after. When Inferno and Hoist finally found him, five days later, Red was in such a state of dementia that he barely even knew who or where he was anymore. Everyone decided that there was only one thing left to do in order to help Red out of his insanity: they erased his memories from that time, hoping that they'd be able to restore them once Red would be able to deal with them on his own. In the meantime, Inferno watched over him, notifying Hoist and Smokescreen whenever a problem came up. Though it wasa harsh solution, Red was steadily on his way to a full recovery at least. That was more than could be said about others, unfortunately.

"Attention," Teletraan-III said at that moment, cutting into Optimus's train of thought. "Incoming transmission from Earth Commander Ultra Magnus."

Optimus and Jazz exchanged a look. Ultra Magnus was calling them earlier than the appointed time. Had something happened then?

"Put him through, Teletraan-III," Optimus commanded.

"Of course, Prime," Teletraan-III said, complying with the order at once. A few seconds later, Ultra Magnus appeared on the screen, and Optimus noticed how rigidly his old friend stood, tension coursing through his entire circuitry. Things didn't look good at all.

"Prime, do you read?" Ultra Magnus asked, his tone calm and professional; he was keeping his emotions in check.

"Loud and clear. What is it, Ultra Magnus?"

"I received a transmission from Goldbug," the Earth Commander answered. "The Ark is unearthed and going through repairs as we speak."

That didn't sound quite so bad. "And Teletraan-I?" Optimus asked.

"He's functional. In fact, functional enough to receive messages sent to him."

Optimus and Jazz stared at Ultra Magnus incredulously.

"What kind of message?" the Autobot leader asked.

Ultra Magnus stepped back and nodded to his right. "Blaster, do you want to do us the honours?"

"Sure thing, Magnus, my man," Blaster's voice sounded off-screen and, in a matter of seconds, the communications' officer himself appeared. "Yo, Prime, check this out! You're not gonna believe this!"

"Try me, Blaster," Optimus replied.

"Well, for starters, it's an automated message, playing around the clock repeating itself. Thing is, the signal is weak and I could only catch bits and pieces of it. Here's what I managed to enhance."

Blaster pressed the play button on his chest-plate, and the sound of recorded static filled the air.

"…This is… attack… six Autobots… assistance acquired…"

Optimus frowned. The voice was distorted, yet there was no doubt that this was a distress signal.

"Did you pinpoint the location of the source, Blaster?"

"You betcha! I'm sending you over the coordinates right now." Indeed, Teletraan-III's monitors flashed brilliantly, indicating that the message had just arrived.

"Got it. Thanks," Optimus said, and he got ready to end the transmission.

"Whoa, hold on, Optimus. I still haven't told you the really incredible news."

Optimus froze. "There's more?"

"Yup," Blaster said. "The message was sent in a secret Autobot frequency."

"No surprise there," Jazz said. "Whoever sent the message wanted to make sure the good guys got it."

"That's not the surprise," Blaster said. "The surprise is that we haven't used this frequency since the Battle of Autobot City."

Now both Optimus and Jazz were downright dumbfounded.

"Are you sure about this, Blaster?"

"100%" Blaster said.

"I see…" Optimus crossed his arms in a thoughtful manner. "We'll need to think this over. I'll contact you again as soon as we've reached a decision."

"Okay, Prime. Blaster out."

And with that, the transmission ended. Optimus didn't speak for many long moments, feeling almost overwhelmed. Finally, though, he faced Jazz, and he could tell that the saboteur was just as shaken as he was.

"Jazz… Can you tell me why this frequency wasn't used again after the Battle?"

"Rodimus figured that the Decepticons had found out about it and used it to eavesdrop on us. That was probably why they knew about the mission on Earth."

"I see. He wanted to make sure history didn't repeat itself," the Autobot leader mused aloud. "Did he make it a direct order that no Autobot should use this frequency?"

"He sure did," Jazz answered. "Whoever used this frequency obviously couldn't know about the order, so he must be a Decepticon."

"Or an Autobot who couldn't have known about the order," Optimus pointed out.

"But who could that be?" Jazz asked, frowning.

"That's what we're going to find out." Optimus pushed his shoulders back, his mind set. "Contact the Twins, Blurr and Wreck-Gar; we're going to investigate the source of the signal."

"Gotcha," Jazz said, making a motion to walk towards the exit. However, he stopped at the last moment.

"Jazz?" Optimus could see that something troubled the saboteur.

Jazz pursed his lip components momentarily and finally decided to just go ahead and speak his mind.

"Prime, with your permission, I want to add one more Autobot in the team."

"Who?" Optimus asked.

"Bluestreak."

Optimus certainly didn't expect that kind of request.

"Are you sure about this, Jazz?" he asked cautiously. "I've read First Aid's report."

Jazz sighed. "First Aid's afraid; that's understandable. But the kid's an Autobot too, Prime; one of the best we have," he reasoned.

"He's not well," Optimus pointed out.

"He's been through a lot," Jazz admitted, "But he's also a fighter; you know it, and I know it. Just give him a chance, Prime. If anything, it will put his mind off his own problems."

It was obvious Jazz didn't intend to back down. So, Optimus finally nodded his consent.

"Fine," he said quietly. "But I don't want to see him break, Jazz. If he shows any signs that he can't handle the situation, I'll have to ask him to back away from the Autobots once we get back from the mission."

Jazz nodded. "Understood. Thank you, Prime."

Prime allowed himself a small smile underneath his face-plate. "Don't thank me yet, Jazz. Let's see how he pulls through."

TBC…


	4. The Broken Photograph

Sideswipe kept his step quite brisk as he walked down the hallway, hardly acknowledging the fellow Autobots that he passed by. He had work to do after all, and he couldn't afford any delays.

"Hey, Sideswipe. I heard about the mission. Good luck to you guys."

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, not really looking at Springer.

Still, the red Lamborhini couldn't help but smile. When Jazz had called him and Sunstreaker via the radio transmitter a few orns ago and had said that they had been assigned an important mission, Sideswipe had almost jumped with joy; it was their first mission in a long while.

"I'm telling you, Bro, it's gonna be just like the old days," he had told Sunstreaker. "You and me, back to back, shooting and kicking Decepticon aft every which way! Who knows, we might do some jet judo too! If you aren't feeling too _rusty _for it, I mean…"

Sunstreaker had smirked and cuffed Sideswipe on the arm at the jibe, and, of course, the red Lamborghini reciprocated in kind. A few moments later, the twins had ended up on the floor, locked in mock combat very much like the way they used to when they were back at the Ark. It had made Sideswipe feel carefree once more.

There was still one other matter, however, and it went by the name of Bluestreak. Jazz had asked Sideswipe to bring the silver mech to the launch site at the appointed time, so the team would set off on its mission without setbacks. Sideswipe would have preferred it if Sunstreaker was with him, but he remembered what Smokescreen had said: there should be _one _visitor at a time. So, Sideswipe stood in front of a familiar door, and he felt fingers twitching as he considered pressing the call button. Though he had been there before in a wish to see how Bluestreak was faring, his visits weren't easy… especially after the Hate Plague.

Realising that he was merely stalling, Sideswipe shook those thoughts off his head. He cycled a great amount of air in his vents, steeled himself, and then pressed the call button. The door opened, just a bit, revealing Bluestreak's visage behind it. Blue optics regarded Sideswipe and a brief flash of recognition reflected in them.

"Hey, Sideswipe," Bluestreak said, a small smiled on his features. "Is it time to go?"

"Yeah, it is," Sideswipe said, trying not to mind Bluestreak's quiet tone. "You ready?"

"Almost," the silver mech replied and he opened the door all the way. "Come in if you want. I won't be long."

It was a polite gesture, no question about it. But Sideswipe still registered Bluestreak's warmth-lacking gaze, and he noticed how worn out the silver mech's movements were. Apparently, those sessions were Smokescreen weren't progressing as fast or as smoothly as Sideswipe had hoped.

Sighing, the Lamborghini stepped inside and watched Bluestreak go to the other room before having a look at his surroundings. Nothing had changed since Sideswipe's last visit. The place was still barren, lacking any sort of personal belongings that indicated that the dorm was, in fact, inhabited. Just a small vial of energon on the table, barely touched; and a small, framed photograph, face-down.

Sideswipe winced, suspecting which photograph it could be. He looked in the direction Bluestreak left, listening to the silver mech's steps quite distinctly. Bluestreak was still busy with whatever he was doing, so it Sideswipe had the chance to pick up the photograph and take a look.

Sure enough, it was _the _photograph. The one in which Bluestreak smiled broadly and gave his viewer a playful thumbs-up, while Prowl looked up with his usual serious expression on his features. The one which Bluestreak had found in the debris of the spaceshuttle where Prowl was killed. The one that was still broken after all this time, almost as badly broken as its owner.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Bluestreak's voice sounded from up close, startling Sideswipe. Indeed, the silver mech was standing next to the red Lamborghini now, but his gaze was locked on the picture. "There was actually a time that we could be really happy."

Sideswipe shifted his weight, guilt eating away at his spark. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Bluestreak said in a reassuring tone, and he extended his hand.

Understanding, Sideswipe handed Bluestreak the picture. The silver mech took it, white fingers tracing Prowl's form as he swiftly got lost in thought.

_Primus, Bluestreak…_ And yet Sideswipe couldn't confront his friend for seeking comfort in an old picture when there were so many _living _Autobots willing to offer him their support. That picture was probably the one thing that kept Bluestreak sane during the Hate Plague.

"Didn't you ever think of repairing it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Bluestreak shook his head at once. "I don't want to forget."

He placed the photograph almost reverently on an empty shelf, his fingers and gaze lingering on it for a moment longer before he finally turned to Sideswipe. His expression was neutral, almost passive as he said in a soft tone, "Let's go."

"Okay," Sideswipe replied. He exited the room, only to pause momentarily on his tracks as Bluestreak occupied himself with locking the door.

"So… uh… do you know what this mission is about?" he asked, a feeble attempt to make Bluestreak talk.

"Some kind of a rescue mission, from what I gather; Jazz wouldn't say much else," Bluestreak answered, following Sideswipe's down the hall. "What did he tell you?"

"More or less the same," Sideswipe replied evasively. Yes, Sideswipe knew a lot more than he let on, but he wasn't supposed to say anything to Bluestreak; not yet anyway. "I guess Prime will tell us more at the launch site."

"He's really coming with us then?" Bluestreak said.

"Yup," Sideswipe answered with a nod. "Jazz and Bro will be with us too, as well as Blurr and Wreck-Gar."

Bluestreak's features clouded at those words. "Strange. Not a single scout or medic on a rescue mission," he mused aloud. "Are we expecting trouble?"

The inquiring look that Bluestreak gave him almost unnerved Sideswipe, for it resembled a look that a certain tactician used to give the red Lamborghini whenever he was caught red-handed pulling pranks.

"Aren't we always?" he answered, forcing a cheeky grin on his lip components.

If Bluestreak wanted to find out more, he didn't get the chance. In that moment, they stepped foot on the launch site, and both Autobots were welcomed by a very exuberant Blurr.

"Oh, good, you guys are here! I thought you wouldn't make it because it's almost time for the launch and that wouldn't be good, no, no good at all!" the blue mech said, his words flying with the speed he was well-known for. "Hold on, I'd better tell the others, they'll want to hear this, they definitely will!" And he zipped off before either Sideswipe or Bluestreak had the time to say a word in response.

The two Autobots exchanged a look and then shook their heads, continuing on their way. It didn't take them long to find Optimus, Jazz, Sunstreaker and Wreck-Gar, who were standing next to Skylynx with an expectant look in their optics; news certainly travelled fast when Blurr was the messenger.

"Heeeeere's Johnny!" Wreck-Gar declared, a grin on his lip-components.

"Took you long enough, Bro," Sunstreaker noted with a snort. He faced Bluestreak, giving him the once over. "So… you've finally decided to join the rest of us?"

"I missed you too, Sunstreaker," Bluestreak replied with a small smile. He knew, just as well as Sideswipe did, that that was Sunstreaker's way of welcoming the silver mech back to the Autobot ranks.

Sunstreaker acted as though offended by that sort of presumptuousness and crossed his arms. Jazz and Optimus stepped forward, however, cutting the banter short.

"I'm glad you came, Bluestreak," the Autobots leader said sincerely. "I realise that this isn't easy for you."

"You wanted me in this mission," Bluestreak replied. "It's not in my place to say no."

Optimus nodded, while Jazz took out of subspace a particular gun.

"I was holding this for you," he said. "You must have missed thisbaby."

Bluestreak's optics widened slightly. "Is that…?" he started, yet stopped midway as if afraid to voice his thought.

"The one and only," Jazz replied, handing Bluestreak the gun. "I've figured you might want it back."

"Thanks, Jazz," Bluestreak said softly, accepting the saboteur's gift.

Sideswipe recognised the gun, and he realised how important that moment was. Prowl had given Bluestreak that gun, back when the silver mech had been accepted as an Autobot gunner. Bluestreak had to give it up after the Battle Of The Autobot City, when First Aid expressed certain fears that Bluestreak wouldn't hesitate to use it against himself; but now, after more than a year, the gun was finally back to its rightful owner.

The red Lamborghini looked at his friend as he still held the gun. It was strange, but he felt that something was right with the world now that Bluestreak was a gunner once more. It was a welcome sight.

- What are you thinking, Sideswipe? - Sunstreaker asked over the secret frequency. He had obviously noticed Sideswipe's thoughtful expression.

Sideswipe cast a brief smile in the yellow warrior's direction.

– Probably the same thing you're thinking, Bro. -

Another pair of footfalls made all the Autobots turn around, just in time to see Hot Rod approaching them. The young mech seemed quite self-conscious at the sudden attention to his person, and he stopped on his tracks.

"Uh… I'm not late again, am I?" he asked.

"Not at all, Hot Rod; your timing is perfect," Optimus said, walking up to his protégé. "Where's Springer?"

"He's already up at the control tower," Hot Rod answered, pointing with his thumb at the tall building behind him. He cocked his head to the side, regarding Optimus with a raised optic ridge. "So you're really going?"

Optimus nodded. "Something tells me I should investigate matters personally."

"If you say so," Hot Rod replied, shrugging. "Just don't die again, okay?"

"Not if I can help it," Optimus promised with a small chuckle, and he opened his chest. Even though its former power was gone, the Matrix of Leadership still sparkled under the Cybertronian lights as Optimus passed it over to Hot Rod. "I leave everything here in your care now… Rodimus."

"Heh. I guess if I did it once, I can do it again," Hot Rod said, and he placed the Matrix inside his own chest. In the next moment, Hot Rod was gone and Rodimus Prime stood in his place, regarding Optimus with respect. "I won't let you down."

"You never did," Optimus said kindly, patting the mech on the shoulder in a gesture of farewell. "Okay, Autobots, it's time to move out!" he declared.

"Very well, chaps," Skylynx said, realising that that was his cue. "Please enter in orderly fashion and remain seated in your places while your excellent captain prepares for departure. Thank you for choosing Skylynx Airways; prepare for the ride of your life."

"Geez, ego much?" Sunstreaker muttered under his breath, taking a seat.

Sideswipe's comment about the pot calling the kettle black was left unheard as Skylynx's engines gunned noisily, signifying the flier's take off.

_TBC..._


	5. Q30 Quadrant

"I must say that things are looking good so far," Skylynx noted as he still flew across space with the grace and agility he was so proud of. "We're travelling at fairly good speed, there are no meteor showers in the area and, more importantly, I detect no Decepticons."

"I'd like to see them try anything funny," Sunstreaker said. He was sitting by the control panels, and everyone present in the room could see that the yellow Lamborghini had clenched his right hand into a fist.

"Don't get worked up yet, Sunstreaker," Jazz said from the commander's seat. "We have some way to go yet."

"Where did you say the source of the signal was?" Sideswipe asked curiously, looking up from the communications panel.

"At the borders of the Q-30 quadrant," Jazz answered.

"_That _Primus-forsaken place?" Skylynx exclaimed. "There's nothing there but dead planets!"

"The signal came from there, so the planets are obviously not as dead as we thought," Jazz pointed out.

"This is just great. Prime had better not be taking us on a wild goose-bot chase," Sunstreaker said, shaking his head. He looked around, optics drifting in all directions. "Speaking of which, where's the big guy?"

"Probably recharging," Jazz said. "Or trying too, anyway."

"So you've noticed it too," Sideswipe said, facing the saboteur.

"It would be hard not to, kiddo. His body screams weary a mile away," Jazz replied. "But I've no idea what could be bothering him."

"Whatever it is, it must be something pretty bad," Sideswipe noted. "I tried to bait Smokescreen for information but I got nothing."

"Or maybe he didn't tell Smokescreen about it so we wouldn't worry," another voice said.

Jazz and the Twins turned around, startled. Bluestreak was by one of Skylynx's radars, almost concealed in the dark corner and barely moving as his optics remained locked on the datapad he was holding.

The saboteur was the first one to recover from his surprise. "Yeah, that sounds like Prime," he said softly. He exchanged a look with the Twins and then looked back in Bluestreak direction once more. "Hey, uh… Bluestreak? It's almost time for some nourishment, man."

Bluestreak raised an optic ridge, yet he nodded his understanding. "All right, I'll fetch you some cubes, and I'll check if Blurr and Wreck-Gar need any energon too."

"Good thinking," the saboteur said. "Check if Optimus is online and offer him some while at it."

"I will," the gunner replied in an absentminded manner, and he headed for the exit. The smile all three Autobots had cast in his direction as the silver mech walked out vanished when the door hissed closed behind Bluestreak.

"In case you two didn't notice, he didn't mention that he would have any for himself," Sunstreaker said.

"Yeah," Jazz replied, sitting back on his seat with a sigh before looking at Sideswipe. "And I bet he hasn't recharged ever since we took off, has he?"

Sideswipe shook his head.

"Blast it," Jazz muttered under his breath. "I hoped the mission would help him."

Sunstreaker pursed his lip components in thought. "Couldn't we just…?"

"No," the saboteur said immediately. "That's out of the question, Sunstreaker."

"It helped Red!" Sideswipe said.

"It didn't cure him!" Jazz argued.

"He has a life!" the red Lamborghini exclaimed, finally snapping. "Look at Bluestreak and tell me what good have memories done to him!"

"Bro…" Sunstreaker started.

"It's true! Yeah, he made horrible jokes and blabbed on as if there was no tomorrow. Are you going to tell me you don't miss his laughter and the way his presence alone cheered us up, because then this blasted war didn't look so ugly?" Sideswipe continued on, almost beside himself with exasperation. "Now, every time I look at him I see this…" He stopped midway, trying to find the right word but he failed miserably. "I miss the old Bluestreak, damn it!"

Neither Jazz nor Sunstreaker spoke at once. In the end, Sunstreaker broke the silence, regarding his brother in sympathy – a rare thing for the yellow warrior.

"We all do, Sideswipe," he said softly.

Jazz nodded slowly, the heavy atmosphere of the room burdening him, too.

* * *

_Though the straps that kept him down on the berth were strong, he tried to scan his surroundings in the hopes of understanding what was going on. All he could see, however, was darkness which seemed to close around him, smothering him. _

_Then the cold glint of a metallic drill came within view, ready to do its hideous work with an audio-piercing sound._

"_NO!" Both determination and despair fuelled his body and he gave a mighty heave, finally breaking the bonds on his right arm. He swung wildly, and the drill got tossed away before it could do him any harm._

"_Restrain him! He's trying to get away!" a voice said to his left, but he didn't care. He had to get out at all costs. He sat up, managing to break the other straps, but strong tentacles wrapped around his wrists and forced him down. He kicked and punched like a wild animal, trying to fight back… and suddenly time came to a stand still as he caught sight of the mech that was laying offline at the other berth._

_Windcharger?_

"Windcharger!" Optimus came back online with a start, optics snapping open. Yet he was no longer in darkness or restrained anymore. All he could see were the familiar walls of his room.

The door hissed open at the very next moment, almost startling the Autobot leader. To his surprise, Bluestreak rushed in, looking quite concerned.

"Sir?"

The Autobot leader winced inwardly at Bluestreak's formality, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything about it. He simply sat up with a sigh. "Bad dream," he explained.

"It certainly sounded like it," Bluestreak noted, a frown clouding his youthful features. He stepped closer, taking out of subspace a small energon cube, and he held up the item closer to the much larger mech. "Here."

Optimus looked at the cube uncertainly, then back at Bluestreak. "Isn't that your ration?"

"No," Bluestreak said. "It was meant for you. I was on my way here to bring it."

That, Optimus supposed, explained why Bluestreak was close by to hear his cry. Accepting Bluestreak's courteous gesture, he took the cube and sipped some of the luminescent liquid. Its sweet taste was enough to discard the last remnants of his nightmare.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

Bluestreak's lip components tugged to a brief smile. "Any time," he replied, and he turned around as if about to walk away. He stopped at the last moment. "May I speak freely, Sir?"

Optimus was quite surprised at the request; nevertheless, he nodded. "Always."

"Good." Bluestreak pondered on the matter for a while, hesitating as to how to proceed at first, but then he went ahead and just asked. "Is there a reason that I've been picked for this mission?"

Optimus thought fast. "We needed a gunner," he said.

"Except I haven't been a gunner for more than a year now. The only duty I have been trusted with was surveillance," Bluestreak pointed out. "So what made the difference this time?"

Optimus now realised that there was no point in sugarcoating anything, not when Bluestreak regarded him so closely, demanding the truth. The young one was no longer a child, and he shouldn't be treated like one.

"You have everyone worried," he finally answered. "You've barely recharged or consumed energon ever since you came out of your stasis-lock."

Bluestreak pursed his lip components momentarily. "You've been talking to First Aid."

"Affirmative," Optimus said. "And Smokescreen has confirmed your wary behaviour as well."

"We're at war," Bluestreak reasoned.

"Should you be wary of your friends too?"

Bluestreak didn't say anything.

"Bluestreak… I won't pretend and say I know how you feel. But you can't live in fear forever. I hope you understand that."

"Is this what this mission is about?" Bluestreak asked softly. "So I can overcome my fear?"

"Partly," Optimus answered. "It's also a chance for you to realise that there are still some things worth fighting for. You can't just back away."

Bluestreak heaved a sigh. "That sounds like something Prowl would have said."

"Then you know it's good advice. Follow it, Bluestreak."

"I… don't know how," Bluestreak said.

"That's what friends are for," Optimus said kindly. "As long as you let them help you."

Bluestreak nodded once more. "I'll try."

"That's more than enough for me," Optimus replied, smiling underneath his battlemask. "Thank you, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak smiled a bit as well, but he didn't get the chance to say anything. At that moment, the familiar piercing sound of an incoming transmission cut through the brief silence.

"Jazz to Optimus Prime. Do you read?"

"Loud and clear. What is it, Jazz?"

"Skylynx has just picked up the distress signal again. You'd better come to the bridge."

Optimus and Bluestreak exchanged a glance, and then the Autobot leader talked to his transmitter again.

"Copy that. We're on our way."

* * *

Optimus and Bluestreak stepped inside the bridge, not in the least surprised to see that the rest of the crew was already there. Jazz was still sitting on the commander's seat, while the Twins were focused on the monitors. Blurr was pacing up and down in an agitated manner, and Wreck-Gar was standing by the entrance, keeping his arms crossed. When they saw the Autobot leader, however, everyone stood in attention and saluted.

Optimus waved his hand dismissively, since he never cared for such kind of displays. "Report."

"Allow me," Skylynx said, his dashboard flashing as he kept talking. "My superior sensors have picked up the transmission that brought us here in the first place. More than that, there's less disturbance, so we can listen to the message to its entirety."

"Did you record it?" Optimus asked.

"Of course, Prime," Skylynx said. "Jazz has taken up the task of unscrambling it."

"And I gotta tell you, things sound pretty bad," the saboteur said, pressing the button. Static filled the room for a few moments, but then all the Autobots heard the same distorted voice that they had listened to back on Cybertron.

"This is a code one message to any Autobot who's listening. Five creatures known as Quintessons are planning a covert attack on planet Cybertron with the intention of occupying it. Six Autobots have already been reprogrammed for that very purpose and will be used for the impending attack if assistance isn't acquired. The enemy base is-"

Suddenly, the message was cut off with a great exploding sound that made everyone in the room almost flinch, only for silence to prevail once more. All the Autobots exchanged glances in numbing confusion, far more shaken then they would ever want to admit.

Blurr was the first one to break the eerie quiet.

"Oh…. This isn't good. This isn't good at all! Just when we think that we've gotten rid of the Quintessons once and for all, they come back and try to enslave us all over again and this is getting really tiresome and-"

"We get it, Blurr!" Sunstreaker exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Sorry," Blurr said, stopping at once.

Optimus, however, didn't notice what was going on around him. He kept replaying the message on his mind, feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something important.

"A franc for your thoughts?" Wreck-Gar asked in a ridiculously falsetto voice, cutting into the leader's train of thought.

"This rescue mission has just got a lot more complicated," Optimus answered. "And now I realise that there are no such thing as coincidences."

"Prime?" Jazz asked, perplexed.

"The Quintessons had reprogrammed me to lead you to your destruction. Now they're attempting to do the same thing again, using more Autobots that they've managed to get a hold of."

"Those sick bastards," Sideswipe exclaimed, pounding the control board with his fist in his anger. "If I get my hands on them, I'm gonna make them meet their _own _maker."

"And we've gotta help those Autobots," Bluestreak said. "If there's a way."

"Indeed," Optimus said, nodding. "Skylynx, how long will it take you to reach Q-30 quadrant?"

"About a megacycle," Skylynx answered.

"Very well. Maintain your course but keep yourself out of any detectors. We don't need to let the Quintessons know we're coming."

"Of course, Optimus," Skylynx said. "Fear not, the Quintessons won't know what hit them."

"I'm counting on that," Optimus answered.

"Number One, engage," Wreck-Gar said full of authority, though it wasn't necessary. Skylynx set his thrusters on full throttle and headed towards the source of the distress signal. The other Autobots sat in the cockpit on edge, waiting to hear Skylynx's next status report. And finally, just over a megacycle later…

"Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We're fast approaching the first planet within the Q-30 quadrant, a lovely place filled with ash, lava and dust. Please remain seated as the planet's gravity will make this part of the trip rather bumpy."

"Do you see anything out of the ordinary on the surface, Skylynx?" Optimus said, leaning forward on his seat.

"Nothing as of yet, Optimus. The place looks as barren as the day it was created."

"Yeah, well, not quite," Sunstreaker said, optics locking on the monitor to his left. "I just saw something glinting."

"You sure about this, Sunstreaker?" Jazz asked, a frown clouding his visor.

"I'm never wrong," the yellow Lamborghini declared. "There's something down there."

"But what is that something?" Bluestreak asked.

"Could it be some kind of natural phenomenon? 'Cause it's happened before and there was no danger involved," Blurr provided.

"Sorry, old chap, but I fear that what Sunstreaker spotted is, indeed, an artificial structure."

"Then we've reached the Quintesson Base!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "We've found it!"

"Hold on, Sideswipe. We don't know anything yet for sure," Optimus reasoned.

"We are now! Incoming!" Sunstreaker cried.

Indeed, a barrage of missiles flew to their direction, ready to hit Skylynx.

Optimus tightened his jaw. This was going to be _bad_.

"Autobots, brace yourselves!" he cried.

"No, jump out! It's your only chance!" Skylynx cried, already opening one of the hatches.

"We're too high!" Bluestreak said.

"Never argue with the pilot, Bluestreak!" Jazz said, tackling the gunner so they would both jump out.

The Twins exchanged a glance, nodded and jumped out as well, soon to be followed by Blurr and Wreck-Gar. Even as the Junkion cried out, "Jeronimo!", Optimus cast one last glance at the base and then at the ground.

"Prime, please!" Skylynx cried. "I can't stay stable much longer!"

Optimus nodded, took a deep breath… and he jumped.

_TBC..._


	6. Stranded

A loud beeping sound filled the control room, alerting the Quintessons that something was happening outside their base. One of them looked up, turning his spiky head to the main monitor, and then he pressed one of the buttons on the controls.

The image in the monitor grew larger, revealing what triggered the alarm systems.

"Gentlemen, it appears we have company," the Quintesson said.

His other two companions looked at the monitors too, regarding the Autobot ship curiously.

"They're too far from their usual patrolling haunts," the second Quintesson said thoughtfully as he switched to the wizened face.

"They shouldn't be here!" the third Quintesson exclaimed in his devil-like features. "That accursed fugitive must have warned them!"

"There's only a 59,5% possibility that the fugitive had something to do with it," the spiky-headed Quintesson pointed out. "We've cut him off of any means of communication."

"And even if he had something to do with it, we can still use this unexpected turn of events to our advantage," the wise-headed Quintesson reasoned. "Where are the Sharkticons?"

"Still after our prey," the devil-shaped head answered. "He's shown great skill in eluding them thus far."

"Tell them to leave him be for now," the wise-headed Quintesson instructed. "We've just found ourselves new candidates for our experiments."

"They aren't dead!" the devil-shaped Quintesson said.

"Oh, they will be soon," the wise-shaped face replied, pressing another button. "I've just activated the defence-turrets and locked on our target."

"There will still be a 76,3% chance the passengers will survive," the spiky-headed Quintesson pointed out.

"And the ship?" the devil-shaped Quintesson asked. "What damages will it suffer?"

"80,6%"

"Fair enough odds," the wise Quintesson said. "Even if they do survive, they will never be able to leave this planet alive."

"Only as our slaves," the spiky-headed Quintesson concluded.

* * *

He climbed on the rocky slope, grabbing onto the sharp ledges with powerful fingers. Strong legs kept him steady, unlike the Sharkticons. As he had quickly discovered, they were clumsy creatures, unable to keep up with him in such a precarious terrain.

The sound of laserfire made him freeze instinctively. Fortunately for him, however, those creatures weren't only clumsy, but also hopeless with guns. Clenching his jaw, he took out of subspace the gun he had managed to steal from one of the creatures and he aimed it straight at the Sharkticon closest to him.

More laserfire was directed at him and he felt his cheek stinging him when one of the shots grazed his face. Even so, he didn't back down. He just relaxed and waited until he could only see the target… and then fired.

The Sharkticon blew up and fell on the ground in more than just a several pieces. Even so, there were others ready to take his place. Clenching his jaw, the mech put the gun back in subspace in order to start climbing up again. If he reached the top, he would be safe. His only regret was that he hadn't been able to save any of his friends this time either.

He looked back, wishing to see if the Sharkticons were still after him. Just as he had expected, they were slowing down, giving up the chase; nevertheless, there was something odd about the way they stopped.

Coming to a halt, he focused his gaze on them and examined their behaviour. The way they tilted their heads was unmistakable; the Quintessons were communicating with their servants, most probably giving them new orders. That was odd, considering that capturing him had been the Quintesson's first priority for the past two moon cycles.

Unless… something else caught their interest. Feeling curious, he climbed as fast as he could at the top of the cliff. He would be able to see what was going on from up there for certain.

He saw bright lights filling the sky, and he heard the sound of explosions practically reverberating through the air. There was no question about it: the Quintessons were after other hapless victims. He lifted his gaze higher, wishing to see what were the defence-turrets firing at.

It was a ship, probably passing by on trading business or other kind of errand. But, at this rate, the ship would certainly crash and the passengers would get severely hurt, if not killed. The mech's dismay changed into sheer horror, however, when he noticed the Autobot insignia on the starboard side of the ship; he knew now why the Quintessons were so eager to bring the particular ship down, and he didn't like it at all. If those Autobots fell into the Quintessons clutches, they would be reprogrammed just like his friends, increasing the numbers of slaves under the vile creatures' command.

_Not if I can help it,_ he thought, clenching his hands into fists. Without hesitation, he transformed to his automobile mode and drove as fast as he could toward the place the ship would crash-land. If his calculations were correct, then it wouldn't be far from where he was. And if he managed to get to them before the Quintessons, then maybe… just maybe… there would be some hope at last.

* * *

The first thing that Optimus saw when his optics came online was the star-embroidered space above. At first, he wasn't sure what to make of that sight, or even why he was sprawled on the rock-infested ground, but his memories quickly caught up with him. He remembered that he had ordered everyone to jump out of Skylynx, as it was the only way they would have survived his forced landing. That, however, didn't save Optimus from his own painful crashlanding.

He sat up, wincing as the motion made his whole body feel as if he had been through the shredder, and then he checked his surroundings for any sign of the other Autobots.

"Ow…" Skylynx moaned, transforming to his animal mode. He shook his head to rid himself of the dizzy sensation and the rocks that had landed on him. "Are you hurt, Optimus?"

"I'll live," Optimus assured the flier. "How about you, Skylynx?"

"I'm afraid," Skylynx said, groaning as he attempted to activate his thrusters, "that I'm hit rather badly. I won't be able to fly you chaps out of here."

Optimus sighed. "We'll have to worry about that later. Let's find the others first."

Skylynx nodded his understanding, and both Autobots looked in all directions in the hopes of finding any other familiar shapes. Finally, they caught sight of Sideswipe, also sprawled on the ground and offline, while Sunstreaker was shaking him in an attempt to wake him up. Worried, Optimus and Skylynx hurried to the Twins' side.

"Blast it, Bro! Don't do this to me!" the yellow Lamborghini said angrily. "Open your optics, will you?"

Whether it was because of Sunstreaker's rough treatment or because his self-repair systems rebooted his functions, Sideswipe stirred and finally onlined his optics. Blinking, he locked his gaze on the three Autobots that were staring back at him.

"Did you guys get the number of the oversized tank that ran me over?" he asked, his voice weak but teasing.

Sunstreaker's features brightened. "Yeah," he said. "I'll hold the driver while you beat the living slag out of them."

"How sweet of you, Bro," Sideswipe said. With the aid of his brother, he sat up to face Optimus. "Where are the others?"

"We're here, alive and well and thank goodness for that!" Blurr said, dragging an injured Wreck-Gar. The Junkion was limping, his leg leaking fluid all over the place.

"No more for me, thanks. I'm driving," he said wryly.

"That's two more," Skylynx noted. "But we're still two Autobots short."

Optimus looked around, only to see that Skylynx was right. Jazz and Bluestreak were still missing and, worse, the Autobot leader couldn't see them anywhere. Acting at once, he activated his radio-transmitter.

"Optimus to Jazz and Bluestreak. Do you read?"

There was no answer.

"Jazz and Bluestreak, do you copy?"

All the Autobots waited now with bated breath, hoping to hear any kind of response.

There was none. Optimus tried again, trying not to think what this silence could possibly mean.

"Jazz! Bluestreak!"

* * *

"Jazz! Jazz, wake up!"

The voice came as though from afar, and Jazz wasn't sure who was calling him. Still, he complied with the plea and he slowly opened his optics. His vision was blurry at first, but, a few moments later, everything cleared and he saw Bluestreak's face.

The gunner sighed in obvious relief. "Thank Primus. You scared me."

"Sorry, kiddo," Jazz replied, managing a smile. He sat up with a small wince, frowning when he realised that his surroundings looked different for some reason – as if there was more colour. Suspecting what was the problem, he reached for his visor, but it was gone.

"Blue…?"

Bluestreak held up the broken piece of glass that was once Jazz's visor.

"It was a rough landing," he explained. "I was afraid your optics were damaged too, so I removed it to check."

"Blast it. I loved that visor," Jazz said wryly.

Bluestreak shook his head and extended his hand forward, offering his support. "I'm glad you can crack jokes at a time like this." he said.

Nodding his thanks at the gesture, Jazz took Bluestreak's hand and he got back on his feet. "Any idea where the others are?" he asked, scanning the area around them in a curious manner.

"No," Bluestreak said. "I tried to contact them, but my transmitter is dead. How about yours?"

Jazz tilted his head, running a diagnostics scan on his systems. "Nope, I'm afraid my radio's pretty dead, too."

"Things are getting better and better," Bluestreak noted in a dry tone. "Which way do you think we should go?"

"I'm not sure; I can't see any signs that could help us," Jazz said. "I guess we're gonna have to stay put and wait for the others to show up."

Bluestreak, however, looked over Jazz's shoulder. "I hope you don't mean _them._"

Not really understanding what Bluestreak was talking about, Jazz turned around and looked in the direction the gunner did. Sure enough, he could see several mechs running towards them… but it wasn't Optimus or any of the other Autobots.

"Sharkticons," the saboteur murmured in dismay, and he quickly took out several orb-like devices out of subspace. "You've still got your gun, Bluestreak?"

"Yeah," Bluestreak replied.

"You think you can handle them?" Jazz asked.

Bluestreak's lip component tugged to a slight smirk. "Do Hound and Beachcomber love nature?"

Jazz chuckled before he could help it. "Then show them what you've got."

"Okay," the gunner replied, and he rushed to higher ground.

Meanwhile, Jazz threw the first grenades and watched with grim satisfaction several of the Sharkticons blowing up in pieces. The Sharkticons retaliated in kind, and Jazz had to take cover behind some rocks before any of the bombs hit. Clenching his jaw tightly, he threw his next batch of grenades and he took out of subspace his rifle.

More Sharkticons fell as Jazz's aim proved good, scorch marks marring their chest-plate, where their sparks used to pulse. Bluestreak managed to hit two more, killing them with the accuracy he had been known among the Autobot ranks.

More Sharkticons took the fallen ones' place, moving on in spite of all the setbacks, and Jazz understood they were grossly outnumbered. He nevertheless continued on fighting desperately, just as Bluestreak did. The way things turned out now, both saboteur and the gunner had only two choices; either die and bring down as many enemies as they could… or stand their ground and hope for a miracle.

* * *

At first he wasn't sure what to make of the smoke that his optic sensors caught sight of. When the sound of gunfire reached his audios, however, he knew that the Sharkticons were trying hard to get their hands on the newly-arrived Autobots. Throwing all caution in the wind and not caring that his abused body would probably not be able to handle it, he accelerated.

He had to get there at all costs. Failure wasn't an option.

* * *

"We're in it, we're in it up to our necks and we can't get out of it!" Blurr babbled in a state of panic. "What if they got injured when they fell? What if they're offline? Dead? Worse, what if the Quintessons got to them and reprogrammed them and-?"

Sunstreaker actually snarled as he faced Blurr, blue optics flashing in anger.

"One more word from you and Primus help me…!"

"That will do, Sunstreaker," Optimus said then, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace. "Our first priority of business is to find Jazz and Bluestreak as quickly as possible."

"But how are we to do that when we don't even know where to start looking?" Sideswipe asked.

"We don't know yet, but we'll know soon," the Autobot leader said and he faced Wreck-Gar. "How are the repairs on Skylynx coming along?"

"It has all been in vain; the Fellowship has failed," Wreck-Gar answered with a shake of head. "The Grail cannot pass beyond the great seal."

"And that means…?" Sideswipe asked, raising an optic ridge.

"It means that he's only managed to repair my scanners," Skylynx answered, stretching his long neck. "On the bright side, I've just managed to pick up the missing Autobots' energy signatures."

"Where are they, Skylynx?" Optimus asked.

"Beyond that rocky terrain," the flier answered, nodding with his head to the direction of several barren hills to the south. "Unfortunately, they aren't alone."

"Then there's no time to lose," Optimus said. "Blurr, you're the fastest. Go on ahead and offer backup to Jazz and Bluestreak until the rest of us get there too."

"Sure thing, Optimus. You know you can always count on me, 'cause I can be whenever you want me to be in a jiffy!" Blurr said, transforming. In, the next moment, Blurr was off at top speed, while Optimus turned to the rest of his companions.

"All right, Autobots! Transform and roll for it!"

* * *

The battle was more than just heated by the time he arrived, so no one noticed him when he transformed to his robot mode. Keeping his optics focused on the scene unveiled before him, he crouched as much as possible and used the cover of the rock formations to get closer. Hundreds of calculations crossed his mind as he assessed the Sharkticons' battle formation, as well as the amount of retaliated fire.

Dismayed, he realised that things didn't look good at all. There were only two Autobots fighting back – the amount of laserfire indicated so only too clearly. But where were they?

He caught sight of more laserfire, and he calculated the trajectory to where it came from, another rocky formation several feet away from him. But when he saw _who _was behind that rock formation, the world around him came to a standstill.

_Bluestreak?_

No, it couldn't be. Yet it _was._ And, if Bluestreak was here, then…

He didn't manage to complete his thought. Just then, one of the Sharkticons raised his weapon and got ready to shoot the gunner. Worse, Bluestreak was focused on another Sharkticon, so he was oblivious to the danger.

_NO!_

Prowl always considered himself an Autobot who never acted on impulse. This time, however, instinct prevailed and he acted on it without hesitation. He loaded his Sharkticon gun again and started firing at the Quintesson minions one after another. He only allowed himself the luxury of a brief smile when he saw Blurr charging into the fight as well, using his speed to wreak more havoc among the Sharkticons. He even kept his focus on the battle when he saw the welcome faces of Optimus, the Twins and Skylynx, who managed to push the remaining Sharkticons to a shameful retreat. Finally, when he heard Sunstreaker calling out his trademark daunts and threats to the retreating Sharkticons, Prowl decided he could put the gun back in subspace.

That is, until the sound of a laser gun cocking stopped him in his tracks. Turning around, he found himself facing Bluestreak, who was aiming his gun at him.

* * *

Jazz noted with relief that Primus indeed smiled at him and Bluestreak. Just when he had thought that he would be unable to hold back the Sharkticons any longer, reinforcements arrived in the form of Blurr. If that wasn't bad enough for the Quintesson minions, Optimus, the Twins, Wreck-Gar and Skylynx arrived as well, attacking with all their fire power to disperse the abominations in no time at all. Sunstreaker especially was more than happy to see the backs of the Sharkticons as they fled, and he didn't bother hiding it.

"Yeah, you'd better run!" the yellow warrior cried. "Next time I'll see you, I'll shove your heads right up your afts!"

Sideswipe agreed wholeheartedly with that statement and he high-five'd his brother with a smirk. Optimus, on the other hand, hurried to Jazz, a look of concern quite readable in his optics.

"Are you all right, Jazz?"

Jazz nodded. "Just a few dents and scratches, Prime. But my radio-transmitter is busted."

"Then I'll tell Wreck-Gar to have a look at it," the Autobot leader said. "What about Bluestreak?"

Jazz frowned. "Now that's a good question. I figured that he would have climbed down the slope by now."

"Wait, did something happen to Bluestreak?" Sunstreaker asked, overhearing the conversation.

Nobody had the chance to answer, for it was then that the sound of a single blast filled the air like thunderclap, coming from the direction Bluestreak was.

_TBC..._


	7. Reunions

Bluestreak kept staring at the mech before him, trying to control his pulsating spark and yet failing. His logic circuits all but ached as he tried to take in the sight before him, and a part of him was sure that his optic sensors were glitching on him.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" he asked.

The Prowl look-alike looked back at the gunner calmly. "No joke, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak flinched at the sound of that voice; it was identical to the real Prowl's.

"Who in the Pit _are _you?"

Prowl held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I think you already know the answer to that, Bluestreak," he said, taking a step forward.

"Stay away!" Bluestreak exclaimed. His fingers tightened around the gun, his disbelief swiftly changing into anger. "Are the Quintessons behind this?"

"They revived me, but that doesn't mean I work for them," Prowl's look-alike answered. "It's just me."

"Then prove it!" the gunner said in a steely tone. "Or I swear to Primus, I'll make you regret crossing paths with me!"

The Prowl look-alike frowned for a brief moment, very much like the real one whenever something puzzled him. Still, there was no trace of fear or nervousness in him as he started talking.

"You're already holding the proof in your hands. You're aiming me with the same gun I gave you after you got accepted within the Autobot ranks."

Bluestreak glared at the mech. "How would you know?"

"Even from this distance, I can see that the barrel has two targeting modes, adjusting the gun as either a long-range or a short-range one. It makes it ideal for a gunner such as yourself."

"So?" Bluestreak growled.

"There are only two such Autobot guns. One belongs to Mirage, the other belongs to you," the Prowl look-alike answered.

"Maybe it was Mirage's and I borrowed it, you ever thought of that?" Bluestreak said.

"Mirage doesn't have his name etched on his gun," the Prowl look-alike replied calmly.

Bluestreak clenched his jaw. "There's only a code etched on it. H-18."

A ghost of a smile appeared on the doppelganger's lip components. "H-18 was the name First Aid gave you when you were hospitalised back at the Neutral Zone. It was the number of the room you were placed in while you were recovering from your wounds."

Bluestreak felt like his spark missed a pulse. Such was his shock that he didn't even realise that he had lowered his gun. How was it possible that thismech knew so much?

_You know how, _Bluestreak thought, and he aimed his gun at the black and white mech again. "The Quintessons could have planted all that information in you."

"They could," the Prowl look-alike admitted. "But where would they be able to find it in the first place?"

"I don't know!" Bluestreak snapped. "I just know what they're capable of!"

"You don't believe me then," the look-alike said.

Bluestreak didn't answer. He simply kept the mech at gunpoint.

The look-alike sighed. "I suppose it's understandable. Coming back to life just like that is a story hard to believe." He held up his broken door panels on his back in a proud manner. "In that case, your only option is to shoot me. I won't run away."

Bluestreak caught himself faltering. The mech's stoic expression and professionalism was intact, even now, at the face of death. And yet there was so much more in that look, in that body posture. It awakened in Bluestreak memories that he'd rather not remember.

_Prowl…_

What if it was really him?It's not that Optimus hadn't come back to life thanks to a Quintesson.

_No, Prowl is dead, _his logic dictated._ You held his lifeless body and you shed tears over his tomb. You can't expect a miracle to happen twice._

With that, Bluestreak made up his mind. He pulled the trigger.

The Prowl look-alike stood there without so much as blinking as the laserfire flew in his direction. However, he was quite surprised when the laserfire passed by his helm and hit the rock behind him. He regarded Bluestreak curiously, trying to comprehend the reason behind the gunner's actions.

_So alike_, Bluestreak thought as he lowered his gun, a pang of sorrow tearing at his spark. "I saw that Sharkticon ready to kill me. You could have simply let him, but you protected me instead. I believe that much, so consider this as just a warning. Don't you ever…"

He stopped, his vocaliser almost failing him in that moment. Nevertheless, he persisted.

"Please, don't say you're him ever again. If you really don't work for the Quintessons, don't toy with me like that." Tears flooded his optics, but he refused to shed them, keeping his gaze locked on the mech. "Just don't."

The look-alike didn't reply, yet his expression reflected his sadness and even his guilt. He took a few more steps forward, keeping his palms upwards to show Bluestreak that he meant no harm; until he was just a few inches away from the gunner. Before Bluestreak realised what was happening, the mech had placed his hand on the silver helm in a soothing caress. The same caress that Bluestreak still remembered and always would, because it was the touch that always managed to brush the gunner's sadness and fears away.

_His _caress.

And Bluestreak finally believed. With a sob of joy escaping his lips, he wrapped his arms around Prowl and refused to let him go, fearing he was only dreaming.

* * *

Prowl found himself caught in an embrace almost as strong as a mecha-bear's, yet he didn't care. Feeling for the first time in his life overwhelmed with emotion, truly overwhelmed, he returned the hug just as strongly and closed his optics to savour the sensation of the other living mech that was with him. He didn't even try to shush Bluestreak when sobs racked the silver body. He simply stayed where he was, thanking Primus that he had been able to see the young one again.

Metallic steps snapped him out of that spell. He opened his optics, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw more familiar faces, even if they regarded him with disbelief and shock. Whispering to Bluestreak that he should let him go, he drew back from his protégé and took a good look at every single one of them: Optimus, Jazz, the Twins, Skylynx, Blurr… alright, there was one that he didn't know. Since he had the Autobot symbol on his chest, however, it was enough for Prowl that he was a friend also.

"Have you been here long?" he asked.

"Long enough, my friend," Optimus answered, his voice thick with emotion. "And something tells me you have a long story to tell."

"I do, but not here," the tactician said. "We'd better go somewhere safer."

The Autobots exchanged a glance and nodded their agreement. If they wanted to hear Prowl's story, they would have to listen to it without interruptions.

* * *

Optimus checked the cavern in which Prowl had led them, and he had to admit that the place was ideal for anyone who wanted to stay hidden. The cavern was located within a rocky mountain, riddled with maze-like tunnels. It wasn't easy finding your way in them; if it weren't for the tactician, the Autobots would have certainly lost their way.

Prowl… Optimus looked in the direction of the black and white mech, who was walking between Jazz and Bluestreak. It was almost impossible to believe but, as time passed, the more the Autobot leader was convinced that they were dealing with the real thing and not a clone or a cheap imitation. He could see it in the way the mech walked and regarded his friends, the same calm and collected expression in those familiar blue optics. He could even see it in the way that the mech smiled at Bluestreak, and Optimus knew that that fondness was unmistakable.

Though Optimus was happy, though, he couldn't help but feel uneasy as well, for he suspected that the tale Prowl would tell them concerning his resurrection would be quite horrifying.

"We're here," Prowl said, motioning with his hand to the centre of the cavern. There were several rocks that could serve as makeshift seats. "Make yourselves at home."

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge. "Yeah… a cold, damp, uncomfortable one at that," he muttered.

"Indeed. But it keeps the Quintessons and their servants away," Prowl said, sitting down.

"Good. Start talking then," Sideswipe declared as he sat next to his brother. "Last time we saw you, you were grey and with a big hole decorating your chest-plate."

"And that's only half of it," Jazz noted, regarding Prowl curiously. "Not that any of us are complaining, but what happened?"

Prowl optics clouded in a frowning expression. "I'm not sure myself. I remember my chest-plate burning after Scrapper shot me and then darkness. That is, until I came online again."

"I don't remember much from my first days in captivity. During that time, I was at the Quintessons' mercy, unable to come online on my own. I could only grasp a few threads of reality in those brief moments that I was activated. Sometimes I'd see images which didn't make much sense, and other times I was only able to listen to them, talking amongst themselves. In either case, pain always stood out the most.

"My father had told me about the Quintessons. He had mentioned a time when Cybertron wasn't our home, but a place where those creatures could conduct their experiments on their creations without mercy. When he told me of those tales, I felt abhorred and disgusted. But it was nothing compared to what I felt whenever they injected their needles on me, tampering with my processor in any way they could. At those moments, I wanted nothing more than to free myself somehow and get away, even if it didn't look like it was possible. Well… even if it didn't look like it was possible _at first_."

"Why?" Sideswipe asked. "What made the difference?"

"That's easy," Prowl answered. "I soon realised that these moments of consciousness might have been filled with pain, but they also provided me with the chance to do the one thing I _could _do. Think. And soon I heard enough to realise that the Quintessons were quite puzzled with my case. Apparently, my battle computer was something unfamiliar to them, and they couldn't override it to enter my main files and basic programming, the way they did with the others.

"Heh… I guess Wheeljack had the right idea to strengthen your battle computer protocols after _that_ little incident with Soundwave," Jazz noted with a smirk.

"He had," Prowl agreed. "Still, that didn't deter the Quintessons. It spurned them on instead, wishing to uncover the secrets behind the battle computer. I suppose they believed they could use it to their advantage.

"Their greed proved their mistake as well. As long as they kept me online, I could calculate the duration of those experiments as well as check which machines did what to me, which lever or switch activated them… everything that mapped the Quintessons daily routine.

"No, it wasn't easy. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate as their experiments became nothing less than torture. Still, bit by bit, I managed to store all the information I needed, and I started formulating my plan.

"They had been experimenting on my processor when I deemed it was time I went through with my escape. They had installed me on their main computer so that they could scan my functions one more time, hoping to find some weakness or other. What they didn't expect, however, was that _I _would hack into _their _computer. And as my conscience intertwined with it, I locked the doors to the chamber in which the others and I were, separating us from the Quintessons and the guards. When the Quintessons tried to regain control of their computer, I electrocuted them and so gave them a taste of their own medicine.

"I had bought myself some time; time which I used to boost myself with enough energy to break my bonds and kick open the pod I was in. I tried not to think of the wail of sirens as the alarms went off. I knew the way to the exit, since I had downloaded the information from the main computer.

"And yet I couldn't leave. Not like that."

"You wanted to free the others too," Optimus said, understanding.

Prowl nodded sadly. "I wanted to, but I couldn't. Not without using the computer again, and that would mean risking getting caught. In the end, I decided I had to run. I escaped through the ventilation system and got out of the lab before anyone could stop me."

"Hold on a sec, that just doesn't add up!" Blurr exclaimed. "How did you pull that off? No offense, but ventilation systems are always pretty small and you're a very broad mech, and your doors alone could have…"

"Blurr…" Jazz started.

"…easily gotten stuck and then you'd have been trapped for sure. Unless you broke them off, in which case we're talking about a pain so bad that you'd actually pass out and…"

"Blurr…" Jazz insisted.

"… I wouldn't go through with that if I were you. Hmm, yeah Jazz?"

"What do you think is missing from Prowl?"

Blurr blinked and looked at the tactician, finally noticing that the mech's doors _were_ broken.

"Oh boy," he squeaked.

"Holy ouch, Batman," Wreck-Gar added with a wince.

Prowl smiled though, albeit wanly. "I know a mech who had witnessed his city getting burnt to the ground. He himself got so badly injured that he would have certainly bled to death unless he found help fast. He did, although he had to trudge through ruins and death to find it," he said, and regarded Bluestreak from the corner of his optic. "I suppose I understand now what drove him on."

Bluestreak didn't say anything. He simply reached for Prowl's hand and clasped it tightly in his own, his thumb rubbing the torn knuckles.

"Yeah, that's great and all, but come _on, _Prowl! What happened next? We're dying here!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "Figure of speech," he added sheepishly when everyone stared at him.

Prowl shrugged wearily. "There isn't much to tell afterwards. I spent most of the time staying hidden from the Quintessons. Whenever I had a chance, I'd infiltrate their base and try to sabotage their work as much as possible. I'd break down their machines, manipulate their equipment to my advantage – even delving into their files and learn of their plans."

"And when you did, you decided to warn us about it," Sunstreaker said, catching on. "You sent that distress signal we picked up."

"I did," Prowl said.

"I bet the Quintessons weren't all that happy about that," Jazz said, grinning.

"Not at all," Prowl said, a rare smirk of satisfaction briefly crossing his features. "But the Quintessons learned from their mistakes, unfortunately. They've tightened their security, making it almost impossible for me to break into their facility anymore. Worse, I've recently discovered that their reprogramming is almost complete."

"You mean… Ratchet and Ironhide…? _All of them_ will be…?"

Jazz couldn't complete his thoughts; it was too appalling a notion. Besides, Prowl's nod was more than enough as an answer.

"Slag," Sunstreaker said, clenching his jaw.

"We've got to do something!" Sideswipe said.

"And we will, Sideswipe," Optimus said, determined. "But first we have to let Wreck-Gar patch our injuries and then have some rest. If we are to rescue our friends, we're going to need all our strength to do that."

"Nevertheless, someone has to stay guard. Our energy readings will be hard to miss in the Quintesson scanner and that could lead them here," Skylynx said, breaking his silence. "I volunteer to go first."

"Thank you, Skylynx, but you need to replenish your strength as well," Optimus pointed out. "I already know someone who can lend a hand."

With that, Optimus transformed to his truck mode, linking himself to the trailer. Moments later, the trailer opened and Roller sprang out, clicking and whirring eagerly.

"Roller, you know what to do," the Autobot leader said. "If the Quintessons or their minions appear, I want to know about it at once."

Roller whirred once in affirmation, then he sped off as fast as his wheels could carry him.

"That's one brave little trooper," Jazz said, smiling.

"Indeed," Optimus said, transforming back to his robot mode. "Now, Autobots… it's time to let Wreck-Gar do his work."

Wreck-Gar took out of subspace his tools, an almost maniacal grin on his face.

"Come to papa, baby!"

Prowl stared at Wreck-Gar dubiously, but Jazz just grinned and patted his resurrected friend on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. Compared to Ratchet, he's as gentle as they come."

* * *

"What?" the Quintesson with the devilish features exclaimed, making the three Sharkticons that stood before him flinch. "You showed your heels to a handful of Autobots and ran?"

"Master, please," one of the Sharkticons said, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "We didn't expect them to fight back so fiercely."

"That is no excuse!" the devilish Quintesson answered, lashing a whip at the three Sharkticons.

"Nevertheless, the Sharkticons have pointed out an important matter," the Quintesson with the wizened face answered. "The hit did not damage our future specimens as much as we had hoped."

"They are still stranded here and utterly vulnerable," the Quintesson with the spikes on his head answered. "These minor setbacks are meaningless; the specimens are only forestalling the inevitable."

"Not if they come across our fugitive!" the wrathful Quintesson said. "He knows our secrets and they have the firearms needed to put a stop to our plans forever!"

"Then there's no choice," the wizened Quintesson said, placing a tentacle on a lever. "It's time to see if our reprogramming has brought the desirable results."

"We still haven't managed to configure their last remnants of their personality," the Quintesson with the spikes pointed out.

"We've configured enough traits to make them the perfect weapon against their own friends," the wizened Quintesson said, finally pulling the lever.

Great surges lit up the entire room and six pods instantly opened to reveal six Autobots, fully repaired and operational.

"Slaves… Awaken," the wizened Quintesson commanded.

Six pairs of optics flashed brightly as the Autobots onlined and stepped out of their pods, complying with their masters' command.

_TBC..._


	8. In The Cave

It hadn't taken long for Wreck-Gar to fix all the repairable damages. Granted, there was still nothing he could do about Skylynx's thrusters, but the Junkion was sure that the Quintessons would have the spare parts he needed to work around that problem. It gave the Autobots one more reason to attack the Quintessons, something that the especially twins were looking forward to quite eagerly.

However, Optimus knew it had to wait. The Autobots needed rest, for the battle was certainly going to be gruesome and probably a long one as well. So now, most of them lay in one of the most comfortable corners of the cavern, huddled together and in light recharge. As for the Autobot leader himself, he sat on one of the makeshift seats at the other side of the cavern; he didn't think he would be able to rest anyway. One thought after another kept crossing his mind, suspicions that had made their way to the back of his mind and left him wondering.

The sound of footsteps cut into his musings. Mildly surprised, he turned around, only to see that it was Prowl.

"You should be resting, too, Sir," the tactician said. There was no commanding tone in those words, though. Just puzzlement.

"That goes for you as well, my friend," Optimus replied.

Prowl smiled a bit. "I had to make battle plans."

Optimus couldn't help but chuckle softly at that. "Just like the good old days."

"Yes, Sir," Prowl said with a nod. He motioned his hand to the spot next to Optimus. "May I?"

"You don't have to ask," Optimus answered.

Taking that as a 'Go ahead,' Prowl sat beside the Autobot leader. That gave Optimus the chance to have the first real good look at the tactician ever since their meeting… and he was saddened to admit it to himself that Prowl had seen better days. Not only Prowl's doors were broken, his whole plating was marred with deep scratches and dents. Grey markings indicated where the black and white paint was peeled off, and the mech's optics weren't as brilliant as Optimus remembered – a sign of energy depletion. And when Optimus's gaze caught sight of Prowl's scar across his face-plate, he could only wince inwardly.

"Yes, I suppose I look terrible," Prowl said; he had noticed Optimus's staring.

Optimus waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "You're alive, and that's what's important. We'll fix you once we return to Cybertron."

"And the others, Prime?" Prowl asked. "Will we be able to fix them?"

"Once we rescue them," Optimus replied with confidence.

Prowl shook his head. "It won't be easy. I didn't exaggerate when I said the Quintessons' programming is complete," he said softly. "As a matter of fact, I might have even underestimated the situation."

Optimus didn't like the sound of that. "Do you think the Quintessons might have succeeded?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Then we'll help them in any way we can," Optimus said, placing a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "I don't believe that we, all of us, came all this way for nothing."

Prowl looked up at Optimus, confusion reflected in his optics. "Prime?"

Optimus bowed his head and sighed. "You… were not the only ones who died, Prowl."

The tactician blinked for several moments, trying to process what the Autobot leader was trying to tell him. As realisation caught up with him, though, his whole body tensed like a bowstring.

"No… You, too?"

Optimus nodded. "The Decepticons used your ship to pass the Earth's defence systems undetected. As soon as they were through, they attacked the Autobot City and pinned Ultra Magnus's forces inside. I left the Moonbase with the Dinobots, Sunstreaker and Hound so we could help. And though I finally put a stop to that madness, I paid the price."

"What of the Matrix?"

"It was left in good hands," Optimus answered. "As for us, we were placed in a mausoleum and sent in deep space as an everlasting monument dedicated to our memory. But none of the Autobots expected that a new threat would take advantage of the situation."

"The Quintessons," Prowl said.

"Yes. They activated me, hoping I would lead the Autobots to their destruction." Optimus looked at his palms, recalling all those memories – so clear and so painful all at once. "They even programmed me to destroy the mausoleum, and I believed till now that I had destroyed your bodies along with it." He shook his head with a sigh. "I should have figured it out a long time ago."

"Why destroy something unless it has _fully _served its purpose?" the tactician said.

"Indeed," Optimus said. "Daniel had seen a part of the puzzle unfolding before him and he didn't even realise it."

"Daniel? How?" Prowl asked, intrigued.

"He and his father walked into the mausoleum a few months ago," Optimus explained. "Spike told me that Daniel activated one of the tombs by accident, and a mech jumped out of them. However, his description of the corpse didn't match with any of us."

Prowl's optics widened. "A fake?"

"The more I think about it, the more it makes sense," Optimus said. "The Quintessons stole our bodies for their own ends. They would use me and, if that didn't work, they would experiment with the rest of you." He shut his optics, understanding now what the visions that had plagued his mind really meant. "That's what the Matrix wanted me to remember. I had to come back for you."

"And you did," Prowl said with a small smile before his gaze drifted to Bluestreak, the Twins and Jazz. "You all did."

Optimus looked at the four Autobots as well. Bluestreak was curled on his side, placed between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who were sleeping quietly. Jazz, on the other hand, was recharging a little further away, his clear blue optics dimmed as well.

"He missed you," Optimus noted.

Prowl nodded; it didn't take a great mind to figure out that the Autobot leader talked about Bluestreak.

"So much that he isn't even recharging," he said in a soft tone and he looked ahead once more. "He keeps looking at us."

Optimus raised an optic ridge. "You can tell that?"

"Yes. He's still. Too still."

The Autobot leader smiled a bit underneath his battlemask. "I suppose he wants to be sure you're real, my friend."

"Perhaps," the tactician agreed. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

Optimus's smile vanished. Prowl's power of deduction had certainly not lessened with the passing of time. "What gave it away?"

"I know him, Optimus," Prowl said tiredly. "His childlike smile and energy that I remembered aren't there anymore." His expression became almost pleading as he locked his gaze on Optimus in a wish to understand, to apply reason to the sad discovery. "What has happened to him?"

The Autobot leader decided he had to be honest. "A lot of things. He first lost you, then his purpose within the Autobot ranks… and then he almost lost his mind."

"How?"

It was just a single word, yet Optimus still detected the emotion behind it. He started telling Prowl everything concerning the Hate Plague, as well as the pain and suffering it caused. The tactician listened on to everything, keeping his expression stoic and neutral. What hurt Optimus though, was Prowl's evident anguish once his tale was over. The Autobot leader had never witnessed the tactician shedding tears before, and he hoped he never would again.

"I should have been there," Prowl whispered.

"You wouldn't have been able to protect him. Everyone became infected," Optimus reasoned. "Don't blame yourself."

"I don't," Prowl said. "But I'm always going to regret… just not being there."

Truth be told, Optimus felt the same way. Yes, he had set things right in the end. But it didn't save Mirage and Perceptor from their nightmares or Red from his insanity. Trailbreaker still hid under a mask of joviality, whereas Bluestreak's inner strength was the only thing that kept the gunner from breaking down.

"I know," he said softly. "But we can only change the future, Prowl. And it's already looking for the better."

The tactician seemed to understand what Optimus told him, for he smiled a bit. Finally, he stood up.

"We should wake up the others. It's time."

"Yes," Optimus agreed, and he got back on his feet as well. "See to it. I'll recover Roller."

* * *

"I don't get it. Why don't we just go for the Quintessons?" Sideswipe asked, directing his gaze to Optimus and Prowl. All the Autobots were sitting in a circle, discussing what would be the best tactic to deal with the present threat. "If we take them out, then the Sharkticons and defence systems won't be a problem."

Sunstreaker nodded, agreeing with his brother's train of thought. Prowl, however, shook his head.

"It's not as simple as that," he said. "The Quintessons prefer to stay in the main rooms of the base at all hours, monitoring everything from there. They're beyond our reach."

"So that means we'll have to draw them out," Bluestreak said thoughtfully. "But how are we supposed to do that?"

"There is a way," Prowl said. "The Quintessons rely on their surveillance cameras to keep an optic on things. But if we destroy those…"

"Then the Quintessons will be virtually blind," Optimus completed.

"But we're talking about dozens of cameras here!" Blurr exclaimed, "Not even _I_ can take them all out at once, and that's saying a lot, because no one's faster than me, I can tell you that!"

"Impossible for one, but not for eight Autobots," Jazz said, and he looked up at the tactician. "You want us to attack from all sides at the same time."

"Correct," Prowl said. "The Quintessons are most likely to expect us to attack as a single unit instead of small teams comprised of two to three Autobots."

"I don't hold it against them; this sounds like madness," Skylynx pointed out grimly.

"Who wants to live forever?" Wreck-Gar said in a sing song.

"I understand what I'm asking you to do," Prowl said. "Yet I wouldn't do that if I weren't absolutely sure that there is no other option. Keeping the Quintessons occupied might give us the chance to reach the main computer and find a way to reverse the others' reprogramming."

"Then it's settled," Optimus said, standing up. "I'll go with Wreck-Gar and attack the south side. Sunstreaker will be with Sideswipe and go for the north side. Jazz, Blurr, you'll attack the east side. Skylynx, you'll separate into both your parts and go to the west side. Prowl, do you know the quickest route to the main halls of the base?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what to do. Bluestreak will give you the back up you need." Bluestreak snapped his head up at that, but Optimus didn't say anything for the present. "Autobots, let's roll for it."

Everyone nodded and transformed one by one, exiting the cavern. The gunner, however, had one last thing to say to the Autobot leader before heading out.

"Thank you."

Optimus smiled. "I know you'll give your life to protect him; that's why I teamed you up with him. But I'd rather you stay alive. You two have a lot of catching up to do once this is over."

"Yes, Sir. Will do," Bluestreak said with a nod, and he changed to his car mode. The tactician welcomed the young gunner at his side as they both sped out with a happy rev of his engine, something that filled Optimus with hope.

Everything would turn out okay.

_TBC…_


	9. Old Friends

Sideswipe moved slowly across the rocky terrain, making as less noise as possible. As soon as he was safe under the cover of a rock large enough to hide him from the enemy's optics, he activated his secret communication frequency.

- Bro, come on. -

Sunstreaker didn't need to be told twice. He moved with the stealth and grace of a large feline (as the yellow Lamborghini himself would have bragged) and he reached his brother.

- This is almost too easy, - Sideswipe said, smirking.

- Let's not make these our famous last words, - Sunstreaker pointed out as he dared a peek at the base. – Can you see the others?

- Not really, - the red Lamborghini replied. – Prime, do you read? –

- Loud and clear, - Optimus's voice sounded from the other end of the link. – Are you in position? –

- We'll be there soon, - Sideswipe answered. – We didn't come across trouble so far, so… -

Just then, Sunstreaker touched Sideswipe on the arm and placed a finger on his lips, a sign that the red frontliner should stay quiet. Sideswipe complied, keeping as still as possible while Sunstreaker locked his gaze on a lone Sharkticon. What could one of the Quintessons pets be doing out there on his own was anyone's guess. It didn't matter, anyway. At any moment, he could come across the two Autobots and raise the alarm - something the Twins couldn't allow to happen.

- Careful, - Sideswipe transmitted to his brother.

- Always am, - Sunstreaker retorted, and lunged for the kill. The Sharkticon didn't stand a chance as Sunstreaker grabbed him by his throat and used his other hand to tear the chest-plate open. An instant later, the Sharkticon collapsed in a heap on the ground, his spark torn out of its laser core.

- Overkill much? – Sideswipe asked, even if he wasn't as sorry as he tried to sound.

- It was either that or let him scream for reinforcements, - Sunstreaker retorted. – Besides… they decided to mess with us first. –

Sideswipe opened his mouth to say something, but Optimus's voice cut into their banter.

- Sideswipe, report. -

- Oh, right, sorry, - Sideswipe said, remembering himself. – Nothing to worry about, Sir. Bro just took care of something ugly. –

- Were you noticed? –

- No. –

- Good. How far are you from your rendezvous point? –

- Three clicks, - Sunstreaker interjected, trying to ignore the slight cuff Sideswipe placed on his arm. _You'd get it wrong, _the yellow Lamborghini's look said; Sideswipe had a history of getting lost and unable to read co-ordinates right, after all.

_It's been twenty years. Let go! _Sideswipe's look answered indignantly.

_Never, _was Sunstreaker's final answer, and he turned his attention back to Optimus. - We'll let you know when we're in position. –

- Very well. Optimus out. -

Both Twins heard the characteristic sound of the transmission ending, and they exchanged a look full of meaning. It was show-time.

* * *

Once Optimus was done talking with the Twins, he opened his secret frequencies again so he could talk to the other Autobots.

- Jazz, do you read? - he asked.

- Sure thing, Prime, - Jazz answered. – Wreck-Gar did wonders with my radio-transmitter. –

- Flatterer, - Wreck-Gar said in a falsetto voice. He was standing next to Optimus and he had heard Jazz quite clearly.

The Autobot leader couldn't help but smile inwardly at that, and then he addressed Jazz again. – Where are you now? –

- In position and waiting for your command, - Jazz answered. – And I hope you give it soon, 'cause Blurr is really antsy. -

- Tell him he'll get his hands full soon, - Optimus said. – Have you heard from the others? –

- Prowl and Bluestreak are ready, - Jazz said. - Skylynx has already separated into both his parts and he's currently scanning the area for trouble. -

- Any sightings so far? –

- Negative. The joint is as quiet as it can be. –

- That's what worries me, - Optimus noted thoughtfully, but he didn't have time to ponder on it long, for the sound of another incoming transmission rang in that moment.

- Prime, we just got into position, - Sideswipe said.

- Good work, - Optimus said. – Do you see the surveillance? –

- Sunstreaker's aiming at it as we speak. –

- Very well, - Optimus said and he faced Wreck-Gar. – Ready? –

- Sir, yes, Sir! – Wreck-Gar answered, sounding just like a marine.

- All right… Autobots. - Optimus took a deep breath. – Let them have it. –

* * *

"Have there been any sightings of the Autobots?" the wizened-looking Quintesson asked as he faced his companions.

"Not as of yet," the spiky-headed Quintesson replied, keeping his optics locked on the monitors. "There's no indication of massive energy readings."

"From where do you suppose they will attack?" the Quintesson with the Death-like face asked.

"There's a 47% probability that they will go for the main entrance. However, since there's a 89% chance they'll consult our fugitive, there's also a 43% probability of them using a less conventional tactic."

"And our odds of counter-attacking?" the wizened-looking Quintesson asked.

The spike-headed Quintesson was about to answer when one of the monitors suddenly blackened. The Quintessons flinched, shocked to see even more monitors blackening one after the other.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Quintesson with the Death-like face asked.

"Something is destroying the entire surveillance system!" the spiky-headed Quintesson answered, his tentacles practically writhing as he typed swiftly on the keyboards. "I'm currently downloading the last recording from the main memory feedback. We might determine the nature of this catastrophe."

"Wait! What's that on the screen?" the first Quintesson asked, pointing at the recording that appeared on screen. Sure enough, all three of them could discern the face of a young Autobot, his optics alight and his silver face set in determination as he raised his gun and fired straight at the camera.

"It's only one of them," the spiky-headed Quintesson noted in surprise. "Where are the others?"

The wizened Quintesson understood. His face changed to that of Wrath, his voice becoming quite terrible in his anger. "They're attacking from all sides. They're trying to blind us!"

"Then they shall pay for their insolence," the spiky-headed Quintesson declared, changing to the face of War. He turned to the six Autobots who were still standing next to their pods, a vacant look in their online optics. "Slaves! Listen to your masters' word! Seek out and destroy our enemies!"

All six Autobots bowed their heads in acknowledgement and headed for the exit, no hesitation in their actions. Their masters' word was absolute and undeniable.

* * *

Bluestreak fired at another camera, then hurried after Prowl as fast as his legs could carry him. The tactician moved with experienced ease, hardly paying attention to the Sharkticon laserfire that flew past him. The young gunner, on the other hand, found it quite hard to keep up with his mentor and keep an optic out for the enemy-fire at the same time.

"Blast it," he said as soon as they both reached the safety of a makeshift cover. "I guess I'm more out of practice than I thought."

Prowl patted his protégé on the shoulder. "We're doing fine. The Sharkticons are worse shots than the Decepticons."

"Really?" Bluestreak said, pointing at a small scorch mark on one of his doors. "Could have fooled me."

The tactician's lips tugged to a half-smile. "It almost makes you wish you had no doors, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Bluestreak admitted, chuckling. "Almost." The gunner considered it strange that he could talk so casually while in the heat of battle; but, frankly, he couldn't bring himself to care. After trudging on for so long, prolonging his existence in the name of the greater good, Bluestreak finally felt he was alive again. "Which way?"

"There," Prowl said, pointing at a small steel door. "Go!"

Bluestreak nodded and, springing out of their cover and firing at the Sharkticons constantly, he finally made it at the door. Prowl followed him close behind, optics scanning the security lock on the wall.

"Can you open it?" Bluestreak asked.

"I'm not sure," Prowl replied, fingers twitching as he tried to decide which buttons to press. "I knew the password but I'm positive they've changed it."

"So now what?" Bluestreak asked, dodging the enemy laserfire with a quick duck of his head.

"Well…" With a little half-shrug, Prowl fired at the lock, destroying it utterly. Miraculously, the door opened.

Bluestreak blinked at the lock and then at his mentor. "I don't want to think what would have happened if you were ever locked out of your office."

"Desperate needs, desperate measures," Prowl replied, beckoning Bluestreak to stay close as both Datsuns ventured inside the building. Two Sharkticons tried to block their way, but the gunner took care of them with two well-aimed shots on their heads. Prowl kept running, determined to reach his own goal; but he had to come to a sudden halt when he saw a shadow walking down the same corridor he and Bluestreak were in.

"Prowl, that doesn't look like…" Bluestreak started worriedly, but Prowl didn't let him finish the sentence. He grabbed the young gunner by the wrist and dragged him in another, darker hallway.

"Don't make a sound," the tactician warned. "He probably didn't spot us."

"Who?"

Bluestreak got his answer when the shadow stepped to the light. The gunner bit his lower lip component so that he wouldn't gasp in astonishment and horror. Huffer was standing a few feet away from them, alive and functioning. But his optics reflected no emotion as he scanned the area, obviously trying to locate any intruders. Yes, his was now an enemy, even though he had the face of a friend. Bluestreak's doors twitched and his fingers reached for the trigger of his gun, driven by memories of the Hate Plague.

* * *

_What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You just don't have the bolts for it, kid!_

_Aren't you gonna run?_

_PERCEPTOR!

* * *

_

The Bluestreak saw the minibot moving onward, disappearing down the corridor once more. The tension that coursed through him all but disappeared, and he sagged against Prowl.

"Are you all right?"

"I've been better," the gunner admitted in a whisper. Even so, there was also something that puzzled him. "How come Huffer didn't detect us? We were close enough."

"Yes, we were," Prowl said. "And he would have certainly detected us if his sensors were online."

"You mean they weren't?"

"Yes. It was part of the reprogramming process," Prowl explained. "We'd only serve as the Quintessons' optics and audios and they'd give us directions as to what to do via a radio signal. But optics can only see that far. They can't catch sight of, say… two mechs in a dark corridor."

Bluestreak understood. However, he had also realised something just as important. "Wait a minute… if Huffer and the others are controlled via a signal…"

Prowl smiled, very much like the way he used to whenever Bluestreak accomplished a task successfully. "Indeed. If we destroy the computer, the initial Autobot programming will counterattack the Quintessons' and free them from the mind control."

"Will it hurt them?"

"I'm afraid so. But it's still a risk worth taking," Prowl said, nodding to the direction of another corridor. "Come along."

"Wait, Prowl," Bluestreak said, following the tactician. "If Huffer has been sent to confront us, the others must be out there, too! We should warn Prime and Jazz and Sideswipe…"

"Or make sure we reach our goal," Prowl cut in. "Something tells me our warning would only come too late."

* * *

Another Sharkticon fell in pieces at Sunstreaker's feet, but the yellow Lamborghini barely bothered with it. He just turned his attention to the other oncoming Sharkticons, firing at them like a possessed mech. A rapid series of explosions followed one after the other as the Quintesson's minions perished, and Sunstreaker took the chance to address his brother; Sideswipe was standing with his back to Sunstreaker.

"You okay?" he asked laconically.

"Twenty Sharkticons down and counting," Sideswipe replied, sounding quite pleased with himself in spite of the raging battle they were caught in. "How about you?"

Sunstreaker didn't answer at once; he first shot a Sharkticon that had come too close in the meantime. "Twenty-five with this one."

"What?" Sideswipe exclaimed. "You're cheating! You were at nineteen just a minute ago!"

"Maybe my aim is better than yours," Sunstreaker said with a smirk, firing again.

"Or maybe it's your drop-dead looks," the red Lamborghini replied.

"If that was supposed to offend me, you're doing a horrible job at it!"

"Me? Insult my brother? Never! I-"

Sunstreaker tensed, unsure what to make of his brother's abrupt silence. "Sideswipe?"

"Bro…" the red Lamborghini said, and his voice was unusually nervous, "We've got company."

Sunstreaker turned around, unsure what to make of that statement. That is, until he saw what his brother did.

Ratchet holding up a gun in each hand, ready to fire at them.

"Oh, slag," the yellow Lamborghini said wryly.

TBC...


	10. Desperate Measures

"Run!" Jazz cried, throwing another grenade at the oncoming Sharkticons.

Blurr was more than happy to oblige, and he sped behind the saboteur's makeshift cover before the grenade went off. Shards flew around as several Sharkticons got caught in the explosion, while the shockwave sent a lot more of them flying.

"Did we get them, Jazz?" Blurr asked. "I hope we did, because I'm starting to feel tired and you know I can't keep this up much longer when I get tired!"

"I think we got 'em," Jazz replied, tuning up his audios. He didn't hear any more metallic footsteps, but that didn't mean anything. The Sharkticons could be waiting for them to step out and then catch them by surprise.

"Do you want me to check? I'll just pop my head out and look, you know I'm good at that, I'm the best in fact. I'll be back down before the Sharkticons even blink."

Jazz pondered on the offer for a few moments. "Alright, kiddo. But be careful."

"Don't worry, be back in a jiffy. Less than a jiffy, really, because I'm the fastest mech in the universe and-" Blurr stopped as he looked over the debris, then instantly crouched down next to the saboteur. "Uh… I have some good news and some bad news."

Jazz frowned. Blurr spoke slowly, which wasn't a good sign. "Start with the good news then," he said. Hopefully, that would somehow ease the blow that was coming next.

"There are no Sharkticons around anymore," Blurr said.

"And the bad news?" Jazz asked.

"Windcharger and Brawn are coming towards us, and they don't look happy to see us!"

Jazz stared at Blurr incredulously, then dared a quick peek over the debris too. He was greeted by Brawn and Windcharger's laserfire, and he ducked at once.

"Not happy hardly cuts it," he said wryly, and he opened his communication frequencies. "Yo, Prime, guess what we found!"

"Oh, no… who are you fighting?" Optimus's voice sounded from the other side of the link.

Something in that tone made Jazz realise that he and Blurr weren't the only ones who came across a nasty surprise. "Brawn and Windcharger. You?"

"Ironhide," Optimus answered. The sound of a cannon being blasted crackled through the transmission. "I tried to reason with him, but he doesn't listen!"

"No offense, but the old Ironhide didn't listen much to reason either," Jazz commented.

"Maybe, but he didn't try to off us while at it either!" Optimus retorted.

"Good point," Jazz admitted. "Are the Twins okay?"

"They are dealing with Ratchet," Optimus said. "I don't know where Wheeljack and Huffer are yet."

"Do you think they went after Prowl and Bluestreak?" Jazz asked.

"If they did, they haven't found them yet; I didn't get any message from them," Optimus replied. "Hold on, I need to check with Skylynx, too."

"You'd better hurry," Jazz said, sparing a look in Blurr's direction. Thankfully, the blue mech seemed to be holding well against the two minibots for now. "Our friends are too eager to have our heads."

"Understood," Optimus said, and the transmission ended temporarily.

Optimus almost flinched when the laserfire barely missed his helm, and he looked in Ironhide's direction. The veteran Autobot was standing at the end of the corridor, holding a small cannon with both hands.

"Ironhide, listen to me. You don't want to do this!" Optimus cried. "You're stronger than this!"

The only answer he got was a blast from the cannon. Such was its force that a good chunk of Optimus's cover was blown away.

"Can't we all just get along?" Wreck-Gar asked, loading his gun.

"I'm afraid that's not happening today," the Autobot leader said, and he activated his communication frequencies again. "Skylynx, report. What's the situation so far?"

"In one word: chaotic," Skylynx replied amid cries of Sharkticons and laserfire. "Looks like the Quintessons have unleashed all their forces against me. Not that it will do much good to them, mind you."

"Did you see Wheeljack or Huffer?" Optimus asked.

"No, can't say I have," Skylynx said. "Although my superior detectors tell me that you have troubles of your own, Optimus."

"That's one way of putting it," Optimus said, firing in the hopes of hitting Ironhide's cannon – no such luck. "We'll need your help, Skylynx."

"Fear not! Skylynx to the rescue! I'll deal with my adversaries in no time!"

"Less talk, more action, Skylynx," Optimus said, and he ended the transmission.

"What are we going to do tonight, Brain?" Wreck-Gar asked, looking at Optimus expectantly.

"The only thing we _can _do, Wreck-Gar," the Autobot leader said. "And I'm going to hate myself for it tomorrow."

Wreck-Gar seemed to understand, for a wry expression settled on his features.

"Plan B. Let's just kill each other."

Optimus nodded, and then jumped out of his cover, firing his rifle.

* * *

"You know, Bro… this makes me miss the good old days when he'd just throw wrenches at us," Sideswipe commented, crouching behind a wall.

"You and me both," Sunstreaker said, wincing at the barrage of laserfire that showered the Twins. "So… any ideas?"

"Why is it always me who has to think of a plan, anyway?" Sideswipe asked, glaring at Sunstreaker.

"Because you always say I have the looks and you have the brains, that's why!" Sunstreaker retorted.

Another barrage cut their argument short. Growling, Sunstreaker dared to step out of their cover and started firing repeatedly, forcing Ratchet to keep his distance. With that, he crouched next to Sideswipe again.

"How much power have you got left?" the red Lamborghini asked, nodding at Sunstreaker's gun.

"Not much. Maybe three or four rounds," Sunstreaker answered. "You?"

"Less," Sideswipe replied with a wince. In the next moment, though, his face lit up; for he had remembered something important. "But I also have a stink bomb!" Sure enough, he took out of subspace a small round object that easily fit the palm of his hand.

"Primus, you actually carry that around?" Sunstreaker asked, looking at his brother as if he had gone crazy.

"Hey, you never know when you're gonna have to pull a decent prank!" Sideswipe said cheekily. "And now guess who's gonna be on the receiving end."

Sunstreaker didn'thave to guess. "He's gonna kill you when this is over."

"I know," Sideswipe said, and he tossed the object in Ratchet's direction. The bomb went off at the medic's feet, releasing a foul-smelling puff of smoke which had him cough violently.

That was the perfect opportunity for the Twins to lunge out of their hiding place and tackle Ratchet on the floor. A few moments of struggling later, Sunstreaker managed a powerful punch on the medic's jaw, rendering him offline.

A minute passed, then two… but Ratchet didn't move. The Twins stared at the medic, panting slightly as they tried to catch their breath.

"You didn't hit him too hard, did you?" Sideswipe asked, poking the motionless form.

"Please. I know how to control my strength," Sunstreaker said, waving his hand dismissively. "Aw, blast it."

"What?" Sideswipe asked, looking at his brother worriedly.

"My paint is ruined," the yellow Lamborghini moaned, holding up his hand. Indeed, his knuckles and arms were scratched in more than several places, the result of trying to subdue the medic.

Sideswipe shook his head at that. "One more reason to save Ratchet, then," he said in an amused tone.

Under other circumstances, Sunstreaker would have glared at his brother. This time, however, he chuckled, obviously sharing the humour of the situation.

"Yeah," he replied. "So I suppose we now wait," he added, and he sat down against a wall.

"I guess so," Sideswipe said and he sat next to his brother in a tired manner. A few seconds later, a big grin formed on his lip components as another thought occurred to him.

"You know, I also found a black marker in my subspace. How about we…?"

"No," Sunstreaker declared with finality.

"Spoilsport," Sideswipe muttered in mock annoyance.

* * *

"Oh… Not good, not good at all!" Blurr said, shaking his head rapidly. "They just keep firing at us and we can't do anything about it because we can't just kill them all over again, but then they _are _trying to kill _us _and…"

"You'd better not continue that train of thought, kiddo. You're giving me one big migraine," Jazz said. He peered through a small opening in their cover, and saw to his dismay that Brawn and Windcharger were steadily coming closer.

"But what do we do then, Jazz? Do we have a plan? Any good plan? A plan that actually works?"

Jazz pursed his lips momentarily, and then his optics locked on several pieces of plating that had fallen off the wall during the heat of battle.

"I've got something in mind," Jazz said, grinning.

"Really? What?" Blurr asked.

"Wait for it."

"That doesn't sound like a good plan…" Blurr started, but Jazz didn't let him continue. As soon as the sound of firing stopped, the saboteur grabbed Blurr and sprang out of their hiding spots.

"Hey, guys! Over here!" he cried.

Windcharger's optics flared and he extended his hands. Jazz knew what that meant, of course; Windcharger intended to use his electromagnetic powers. More importantly, it meant that the saboteur's plan was working already, so he and Blurr had to act quickly.

"Blurr, hold on to me!" he cried, ejecting his grappling hook at the nearest beam behind him. The hook got tangled around the beam securely, anchoring the two Autobots. Jazz hoped that the beam would hold long enough for his plan to work.

Not a moment too soon. Every metallic object started shaking as the minibot moved them at will – including the plating lying on the floor. But Jazz and Blurr still held on. Windcharger's hands practically glowed with the power in his fingertips, determined to capture the intruders.

The plating yielded first, however, and flew straight to the two minibots. Such was the force of the impact that the minibots crashed against the opposite wall, rendering themselves unconscious.

The electromagnetic power ceased, and Jazz relaxed his hold at last.

"Well?" he asked Blurr with a grin. "Good plan?"

Blurr nodded. "Good plan."

* * *

Ironhide fell on the floor, clutching his right leg protectively; Optimus's aim had proved good. Still, the Autobot leader had to make sure that Ironhide didn't cause any more problems. Running as fast as his feet could carry him, he reached for the veteran Autobot's arms and grabbed hold of them.

"Wreck-Gar, do you have something to offline him?" he asked, not loosening his grip even for a second.

"I've got a slug," Wreck-Gar replied, shrugging.

"That's not what I wanted to hear!" Optimus cried. Ironhide used his uninjured leg as leverage to push the Autobot leader away, his combat training still effective even in his reprogrammed state.

Wreck-Gar didn't waste any more time, taking his rope out of subspace, he lassoed both the veteran Autobot's feet in a single throw. Ironhide growled and tried to kick himself free, but it was of no use; the rope was too strong.

"Ready when you are, partner," the Junkion said, addressing Optimus in a southern drawl and his optics never leaving the thrashing Autobot.

Optimus nodded, and proceeded to tie Ironhide's hands as well.

"I'm sorry, old friend," he murmured, the sight of the veteran Autobot thrashing about like a wild animal disturbing him to no end.

The sound of a new round of laserfire forced Optimus out of his musings, though. When the Sharkticons realised that their masters' secret weapon had been subdued, they opened fire once again.

"No!" Instinct taking over, Optimus covered Ironhide with his body, shielding him from the enemy fire. A burning sensation washed through the Autobot leader, making him cry out, but he didn't budge. He wasn't going to lose another Autobot as long as it was in his hands, not again.

Wreck-Gar came to his side, using his shield to protect the two fallen Autobots, but Optimus knew that it wouldn't be enough. They needed help, and they needed it desperately.

It finally came in the form of Skylynx. His lion form sank its teeth to every Sharkticon on his way, while the dinosaur one opened his mouth widely and revealed his cannons. A few blasts later, the Sharkticon minions had dispersed, so Skylynx walked up to his fellow Autobots.

"Awfully sorry for my delay," he said. "Are you injured?"

It took some time effort, but Optimus managed to get back on his feet.

"I'll live," he said. "But we'd better hope Prowl and Bluestreak manage to reverse the programming, or all this has been in vain."

"Sideswipe to Optimus. Come in, Optimus," Sideswipe's voice sounded at that moment via the transmitter. "You there?"

"Tell me, Sideswipe," the Autobot leader said.

"Ratchet's secured, and we've just detected Huffer. You want us to catch him?"

_Huffer… At last._

"Affirmative. But try not to injure him," Optimus instructed, "Optimus out."

_Now… where is Wheeljack?_ the Autobot leader thought.

TBC...


	11. Reversed

Bluestreak tuned up his audios, waiting to hear any kind of sound, but there was nothing. Deciding to venture a step further, he took out of subspace a small mirror and held it up at just the right angle so he could have a look at the situation around the corner. He needed to confirm that the area was indeed empty.

"I'm surprised," Prowl commented, observing his former protégé. "This is the first time I've seen you do that."

Bluestreak's lip components tugged to a wry smile. "Because it's a new trick; one I had to pick up after… a rough time," he answered. He stepped out of the corner, gun in hand and looking in all directions. "Clear."

Prowl nodded and stepped out as well, both hands holding the Sharkticon gun. "You mean the Hate Plague?" he asked, carrying on the conversation as if nothing had transgressed in the meantime.

The words shot through Bluestreak's spark, yet he kept himself calm. "You know."

"Yes."

Bluestreak closed his optics for a brief moment. "I didn't want you to know."

"I'm aware of that, too."

Of course he was. Bluestreak continued walking down the room they were in, always on the alert.

"Bluestreak."

Bluestreak blinked, perplexed, and he faced his former mentor.

"For all that it's worth… You did well. And I'm proud of you," Prowl said with utmost sincerity. "Always have been."

They were only three simple words. They nevertheless had the power to reach Bluestreak's very core, sparking within him hope that the young gunner had abandoned in the name of cynicism and stoicism.

"Thanks," he replied, and he was surprised to hear his voice so warm and, even unburdened.

Prowl must have detected that also, for he smiled broadly - the kind of smile that he reserved only for those who were important to him.

"Come on," he said, beckoning the gunner to follow him. "We're close now."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Bluestreak found himself standing in front of a master computer which occupied the majority of the room. Lights blinked furiously, and clicks and whirrs indicated that the computer was fully operational.

"Is this it?" Bluestreak asked.

"Yes," Prowl answered, and he walked up to the controls.

"You know what to do?"

The tactician nodded. "When my mind was merged with the computer, I was able to download in my memory databanks all the security protocols and firewalls. All I have to do is deactivate them so I can have access to the files we're after."

"So how long do you think that's going to take?" Bluestreak asked with a frown.

"I don't know," Prowl admitted, "But I'll work as fast as I can."

"Okay."

Just then, the glint of plating caught Bluestreak's attention, and the gunner snapped into action. He lunged at Prowl with a scream and tackled him on the ground before the laserfire had hit the tactician.

"Blast it," Prowl muttered under his breath, audibly angry. He faced Bluestreak. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Bluestreak said reassuringly.

They didn't have time to say anything else as more laserfire fell in their direction. Jumping again out of harm's way, Bluestreak started firing constantly, forcing the sniper to step out of his hideout. When Bluestreak saw him, however, his optics widened in surprise.

"Oh no… Prowl, it's Wheeljack!"

Indeed, the Autobot engineer was standing on the rails of an upper level, a rifle in his hands and his optics locked on the two Datsuns.

"Then there's no more time to lose," Prowl said. "Keep him busy; I'll work on the computer."

Bluestreak understood and took position behind a desk. Wheeljack detected the motion and started shooting in the gunner's direction. Bluestreak winced as the laserfire barely missed him this time; but he quickly steeled himself. If Prowl needed cover, he was going to give him one. He sprang out of his hiding place and fired rapidly, making sure that the laserfire didn't really hit the engineer. Just pinning him down sufficed for now.

The gunner looked at Prowl from the corner of his optic. The tactician was typing with unprecedented speed, while the monitor of the computer flashed brilliantly one message after the other. It was almost another kind of battle as each processor tried to beat the other, yet Bluestreak didn't worry. He had seen the look of determination in Prowl's optics, and he knew that his former mentor didn't intend to lose.

Another volley and a stinging sensation on his shoulder brought Bluestreak back to his own task at hand. He fired again, forcing Wheeljack to take cover. But the gunner was aware that this kind of hide-and-seek game wouldn't last forever. He needed to do something more drastic and he needed to do it fast.

His optics caught sight of the beams which supported the rail Wheeljack was standing on. There were three of them, thin and bolted tightly in place, something that gave Bluestreak an idea. It would require a lot of concentration and he was too much out of practice. Even so, he was willing to give his plan a try. He crouched down, setting his gun on the maximum power setting as a third volley of laserfire showered him, and then took aim. The first round hit the middle beam, snapping it in two, and the rail groaned heavily – a warning that it had just lost one of its main supports.

Wheeljack didn't have time to react. The rail collapsed and he had to brace himself for the inevitable crash. Pieces of broken beams and bolts fell all around him, but the engineer himself stayed unharmed. He held up his gun to fire again, undeterred by that kind of setback, but Bluestreak shot the gun off Wheeljack's hand.

Bluestreak had supposed that that would have been enough to render Wheeljack harmless. That is, until an invisible force pushed him down on the floor; the force of Wheeljack's magnetic disruptor. A cry of pain escaped his lip components as he crashed on his door panels, but he tried not to think about the damage. He clenched his jaw and attempted to get up, but Wheeljack was onto him in a few strides, straddling him and wrapping both his hands around the gunner's throat.

"Bluestreak!" Prowl cried worriedly, noticing what was going on.

"Just… keep working…" Bluestreak grounded out. If there was one more thing that the Hate Plague had taught Bluestreak, it was never to stop thinking nor give up. Gripping the engineer's wrists tightly, he twisted them violently enough to loosen the death grip. "Sorry, Wheeljack…" he said softly.

Wheeljack stiffened, but it was too late. Bluestreak activated the rocket launcher on his left shoulder and, in the next moment, Wheeljack was thrown a good couple of feet away, his magnetic disruptor blown to smithereens.

Bluestreak cycled air rapidly, trying to catch his breath. Thankfully, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around his shoulders and helped him up once more.

"Are you all right?" Prowl asked, optics rapidly scanning the young gunner for any visible damages.

"Yeah," Bluestreak said. "But Wheeljack…"

The sound of gears moving made both Datsuns snap their heads around. Wheeljack was indeed standing up once more, despite his damages.

"Oh, blast it…" Bluestreak said with a heavy sigh.

"It's fine," Prowl said, "We need to see if the reverse programming will actually work."

"You mean…?" Bluestreak started.

Prowl nodded. "Get ready."

Bluestreak understood, and he watched with bated breath as Prowl hurried back to the computer and entered the final command. The monitor in the computer flashed brightly, all sorts of messages beeping rapidly. And then, just as Bluestreak thought that his prayers wouldn't be heard, Wheeljack clasped his head with his hands and fell on his knees. A scream tore out of his chest-plate and his optics all but flared as the engineer's processor got under the unbearable pressure. In the end, however, the optics dimmed once more and he collapsed on the floor, an audio-piercing whirr reverberating through his body.

Bluestreak waited for several moments, numbing shock almost overwhelming him. Finally, however, he approached the prone body and turned it over so he could examine it further.

Wheeljack was alive. Unconscious, but alive. Even so, Bluestreak had to be sure.

"Prowl?" He faced the tactician, regarding him hopefully. "Is it over? Is it really over?"

"Yes," Prowl answered and a bright, albeit small, smile formed on his lip components. "Yes, it's over."

"Hardly, fugitive," a cruel voice said, almost out of the blue.

The two Datsuns snapped their heads around, and Bluestreak caught himself biting his lower lip. He had heard of the Quintessons from Rodimus Prime, and he had certainly seen them in various recordings from all their previous encounters with the Autobots. Still, nothing had truly prepared the gunner for the real deal as all three Quintessons slithered in the room, holding blasters in their tentacles.

Prowl was right. They were monsters.

"You may have managed to nullify our programming, Autobots," the Quintesson with the wrathful countenance said, "but you've only postponed the inevitable. We _will _prevail and take what is ours."

"Maybe, but not today," Prowl retorted. "You'd better leave before it's too late."

"It's too late for you!" the wrathful Quintesson said, holding up the blaster.

Bluestreak got ready to activate his second rocket and fire it against the Quintessons, but the sound of Optimus's rifle being fired stopped him in his tracks. And, sure enough, the blast amid the monsters had them flinch in terror.

"Optimus Prime," the Quintesson with the face of War said, seeing the Autobot leader stepping out. "Is this how you repay the kindness we showed you by reactivating you?"

"You reactivated me because you had no other choice. And as if that weren't enough, you also reactivated some dear friends to accomplish your own purposes," Optimus pointed out, the barrel of his rifle still smoking. "Trust me, Quintessons, I know the price of your kindness."

"Then what we have given, we shall take," the Quintesson with the face of war replied, and all three of the Quintessons held their weapons. "It's a pity the Autobots will lose their leader again."

"Go ahead and try," Jazz's voice sounded at that moment, and the saboteur himself stepped forward from behind Optimus. "Then we'll show you what an Autobot who has nothin' else to lose is like."

"And just so you know, it won't be quick and painless," Sunstreaker added, his optics reflecting his urge to lunge at the Quintessons right there and then.

"The Sharkticons will protect us," the Quintesson with the face of death argued.

"Yeah, sorry to break it to you, but your troops took one look at our little friend and bolted," Sideswipe said then, grinning. It didn't take a great mind to guess that he was referring to Skylynx. "So… you're on your own."

"Are you feeling lucky today? Well… Do you, punks?" Wreck-Gar asked in a throaty voice, a smirk forming on his lip-components.

Optimus drew back his shoulders, standing as proudly as it was fit for an Autobot leader.

"You have your answer, Quintessons. If you leave now and quietly, we will show you mercy," he said. "I suggest you accept our offer and go."

The three Quintessons didn't move for many long moments, as they obviously contemplated their options. Finally, they exchanged a glance of agreement and the third one addressed Optimus again, switching to the wizened face.

"We will concede," he said. "You may take your friends; they are of no use to us now."

"But do not celebrate your victory for long, Autobots," the face of Death replied. "We _will_ return."

"And we'll be waiting for you," Optimus said.

No more words were exchanged. The Quintessons simply retreated, keeping their eyes on the Autobots at all times. In a matter of moments, they had vanished through the door and out of sight, hoping to get their revenge on another day.

Optimus let out a long breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and activated the communication frequencies.

"Blurr, are our friends on board Skylynx?"

"They sure are, Optimus, although I never expected Ironhide and Ratchet could be so heavy. I bet my circuits will be screaming with ache tomorrow since I'm built for speed, not strength…"

"Don't worry, Blurr; we'll all have the chance to rest," Optimus answered, casting his gaze on Prowl. "As soon as he does one final thing."

Prowl nodded, understanding. Holding up his Sharkticon gun, he fired at the computer once and blasted the monitor away. The explosion reverberated throughout the room, but it didn't last long. All that remained afterwards was a pile of exposed circuitry and cables, along with thin trails of smoke.

"Now that must have been somethin' you enjoyed," Jazz said with a knowing smile.

"Indeed," Prowl said with optics flashing brightly, and he helped Bluestreak back on his feet.

"So. Does that mean we can go home now?" Sideswipe asked, looking up at Optimus.

Optimus chuckled. "Affirmative. _All_ of us."

That was possibly the best news the Autobots had heard in a long time.

* * *

Fixing Skylynx was no problem once the Auobots got their hands on the spare parts they needed. In fact, in less than an hour, the flier declared that all his systems were fully functional once more and he was good to go. His take off was one of the smoothest ones that the Autbots had felt yet.

Then again, everyone was too excited to pay much attention to that, and for a very good reason. After mourning them for more than two years, the Autobots had gotten some good comrades back. Granted, most of them were in stasis lock at the moment, but they were out of danger, and that what really mattered. Once Skylynx returned to Cybertron, all seven rescued Autobots would be placed in a medbay, where they would be taken care of and restored back to their former selves. The Ark Autobots were certainly in for a big surprise and, as Sideswipe pointed out, that occasion called for a party to be remembered. That was why the red Lamborghini now busied himself with all the arrangements that he'd have to do… while Jazz and Sunstreaker offered their help on the matter.

Meanwhile, Prowl preferred to stay with Ironhide, Ratchet and the other offline Autobots. After everything they had been through, it was only natural that he wanted to be with them in a gesture of companionship and care, so no one had opposed to that. In fact, that was where Bluestreak found him several hours later: sitting on a chair and his hands interlaced as he was lost in thought.

The gunner stood at the threshold of the room for a few moments, hesitating. He wasn't sure if he should bother the tactician at a time when his former mentor would probably want to be alone. On the other hand, Bluestreak didn't want to leave. So he remained where he was, looking at his former mentor and relishing the fact that he was here and alive.

"There was a time that you would have veritably bounced in," Prowl said at that moment, then faced Bluestreak. "What's stopping you now?"

Bluestreak shifted on his legs. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I guess I feel too old for that kind of thing."

Prowl's gaze lowered. "I see."

A pang of guilt stabbed Bluestreak's spark. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," Prowl answered. He nodded to the chair next to him. "Won't you sit down?"

Bluestreak did in a slow, almost apologetic motion. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Prowl answered in a friendly tone.

The young Autobot didn't speak again for some time. He stared at his hands for a moment, and then looked in the direction of Ratchet; the medic was still offline.

"They'll be fine," Prowl said, cutting into the silence. "Don't worry."

"It's not that," Bluestreak said, shaking his head.

Prowl raised an optic ridge in mild surprise. "Then what is it?"

"Ratchet has a moustache painted on him."

"Ah." Prowl half-smiled, amused. "You'll have to thank Sideswipe for that. It was his trademark way of welcoming him back, I suppose."

"And you didn't go after him?" Bluestreak asked.

Prowl waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "Technically, that's the second-in-command's position and I'm not one anymore."

"You mean yet," Bluestreak pointed out. "I'm sure Ultra Magnus will be glad to have back his Earth Commander position. Primus knows the last couple of years were more than just a little hectic for him."

"Just for Ultra Magnus?"

Bluestreak knew perfectly well what Prowl was really telling him.

"No, I guess not."

There was silence again for many long moments.

"Bluestreak… You know I always listened."

"I do," Bluestreak replied, wringing his hands. "It's just that… I'm not sure from where to begin. It's been such a long time," he added softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," Prowl said, staring straight in the young one's optics.

Bluestreak smiled at last, realising what his former promised him. And so, after taking a long, deep breath, he started talking, while Prowl listened on with his well-known infinite patience.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bluestreak knew that things in the world were right once more.

**THE END**

Thanks everyone for their reviews and thoughts throughout the story! ^_^**  
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